


Dizzy With it All

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1990s, F/M, Mechanics, grease monkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: “I did hire a mechanic. That’s the thing.” He drops his hands to his side and her smile grows a little, wobbling despite itself as she reaches up to smooth down the hair he’d left standing on end.“I hired a mechanic, a brilliant mechanic. Spectacular, a little stubborn, the best mechanic Nebraska’s ever seen. Can fix anything, even if we’ve all given up and gone home, even if it’s a rusted pile of junk, even if it’s a,” he draws in a quick breath, “carmudgeony old heart.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mechanic AU set totally outside of canon, so no spoilers. Will's a bit of a jerk at the start, if that's not your thing, it gets better. Mild warnings for minor injury (blood) and the usual language.
> 
> Many thanks to Becca and Rin who encouraged me to start this after an odd rummage sale purchase and coming across [this adorable](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ee/34/8d/ee348d05f6eb552d5ee5ad0d872556fc.jpg).

“You can’t hire her.”He doesn’t bother pointing. There’s only one person he could be talking about even if his six year old niece Cailee is dressed in a jumpsuit, grease smears drawn on her face in eyeliner.

“We need her.” Elle matches his glare with one of her own. “You can’t keep up with the work we have and we need more than that unless you’re making good on your threat to move back to Lincoln.”

“Mommy?” He can hear the panic in Cailee’s voice, the warning in Elle’s. He wouldn’t be choosing to move back to Lincoln, he would have to if they couldn’t make the payments on the shop, and Cailee and Elle wouldn’t be far behind. 

“I don’t know her.” He tries a different track. He’s not against hiring someone, he'd known they would have to, but he'd wanted to be the one to do the hiring. He'd been meaning to get around to it in the weeks since the funeral but he’d been too swamped with work, with making sure they had food on the table and that her blessedly mortgage free house wasn’t falling down on her head.

“I’m MacKenzie.” The girl holds out her hand, smiles tentatively in the face of his open disgust.

“Will.” Elle lobs at him and he turns back to her, narrowing his eyes.

“I told you—”

“It’d be Christmas before you got around to hiring someone and you know it.” She’s not budging and neither is he.

“I don’t give a—” he swallows down the rest of what he was going to say with a glance at Cailee who’s stepped back behind Elle, watching him with wide eyes. “Not her.”

“Who then?” Elle puts a hand on her hip and he presses his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper.

“AJ’s guys are always looking for—”

“AJ’s guys are the reason we end up with his customers after they’ve gone to him. There’s a reason he charges half what we do.”

“And she’s better?”

“Yes.” He’s surprised to hear her, MacKenzie, cut in firmly. “And I can prove it.”

“You can, can you?” He turns toward her, paying more attention now to the way she’s standing with her arms crossed, intent, unflustered by the fireworks.

“Give me a week.”

“No pay.” He throws in and she tosses her head, irritated, but not disagreeing.

“She has to pay her rent, Will.”

“She can sleep on your couch.” He throws back undeterred. “You’re new in town.”

“I was in Lincoln until recently.” She says firmly in a way that lets him know he isn’t getting any more out of her on the subject. “I have a place in town. I’ll be staying there.”

He snorts, tempted to argue, but he can hear Elle humming absently, a sure sign she’s trying to get Cailee to stop tugging on her shirt, begging for attention. 

“Stay out of my way and you can have a week, after that it’s up to me regardless of what she says.” He frowns at Elle, almost missing the grin that breaks out on MacKenzie’s face when he relents.

*

She’s good on her word. She stays out of his way, using his dad’s old tools, digging through the toolbox to find what she needs instead of bugging him every time she can’t find something. He has her working on the mowers that have piled up, sharpening blades, replacing spark plugs. It’s monotonous work but she doesn’t complain, leaving each job for him to inspect.

His inspections are superficial, Elle had been right about the work backing up, but he doesn’t find anything to complain about. She breaks for lunch at noon and returns twenty minutes later, heaving the tire he'd left beside the water tank into the trough and turning it carefully, watching for the air bubbles that would show her where the leak was.

“It’s a sieve,” she tells him when she sees him watching. “Half a dozen pinpricks along the one edge.”

“We’ll have to replace it. If Elle shows you where the spares are do you think you can manage?”

She gives him a look that suggests she finds him condescending, but nods without comment before disappearing through the side door of the garage into the back office.

She’s finished with several more mowers and one of the ATVs by the time the shop closes for dinner.

“You’re done for the day.” He tells her when she reaches to grab another mower. “We closed half an hour ago.”

“I don’t mind—” she starts, biting her lip when he cuts her off.

“That’s not going to impress me if that’s what you’re hoping.”

She nods mutely, not looking as abashed as he thinks she should with the way he knows he’s frowning at her, scrubbing the grease from his hands at the sink in the corner. “I expect you back here at eight tomorrow morning.”

“All right.” She offers him a weak smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

*

Elle is furious with him when she realizes he'd sent MacKenzie home covered in grease, but she’s failing to to incite any remorse in him as he sorts through the invoices she'd printed off, pulling out the ones that required payment on behalf of the shop.

“Elizabeth.” He finally cuts her off when he can’t stand the sound of her nagging.

“Don’t you Elizabeth me.” She snaps back not missing a beat.

“It’s been a long day. If you would kindly shut up.”

“If I would kindly,” she parrots back. “When did you turn into a giant dick?”

“Is that what I am?” He looks up from the desk.

“Did you stop for a second at any point today and think of Cailee and me? I know she’s a child and doesn’t have feelings worth considering, but did you think of her when you were out there glaring at Mac, treating her like she was some sort of scum you’d tracked in on your shoes?”

“I’ll do what I damn well please.” He levels at her, unable to rebuke her in any other way, and he sees her take a step back. “Last time I checked this was my shop.”

“The hell you will.” She stares at him for a second and then turns, slamming the door behind her.

*

There isn’t anyone in the front of the shop when he comes in the next morning. Elle would wait until the last minute to show up, as furious as he knew she must be after last night. There wasn’t anyone in front of the shop so there’s a part of him that’s surprised when he spots MacKenzie sitting on the pile of tires beside the back door of the garage.

“I thought Elle usually—” she starts when she sees him and then clams up, quietly grabbing at the door he thrusts at her.

“You can start on the mowers. The one with the pink service tag goes with a snow blower Elle stashed somewhere. The motor keeps flooding with gas. Fix it or give Nelson a call and tell him he’s shit out of luck.”

*

He can hear David Nelson, yelling clear across the garage, but it still takes him a minute to finish with the generator he'd been tinkering with.

“I took it to AJ’s. He told me it was a piece of trash. I brought it here so you could fix it, little girl.” He’s yelling when Will slips into the office, toeing the door open so he can watch. MacKenzie is far enough down the counter that he can see her in profile, the carefully bland expression she’s wearing, the way she shifts her jaw, determined.

“I understand that Mr. Nelson, but I’m afraid that unless you want to replace the motor there’s nothing we can do.”

“You want to charge me to replace the motor, tack that on to what I already paid AJ and I could’ve bought myself a brand new mower.”

“I understand—”

“No you don’t understand.” Will watches her as she lets him continue. David is ranting now, just as furious as he had been, but she doesn’t seem phased.

“We can replace the motor by end of business tomorrow and drop it off, Monday is our first delivery slot, or it can sit in the garage and we can drop it off on Monday. You’re welcome to pick it up before then if you’d rather.”

“And you’ll charge me for that too.”

“We don’t charge AJ’s customers transportation fees.”

“Oh,” David scoffs. “And I’m supposed to be impressed.”

“Mr. Nelson—”

“Look—”

“No, Mr. Nelson. I’m sorry. We can fix your mower if you’d like, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I understand that you’re upset, but berating me isn’t going to change the fact that your motor’s dead.”

David stares at her red faced for a moment before he gives up with an aggravated huff. She watches him leave impassively, waiting until she’s sure he’s gone to turn back toward the shop.

“David Nelson would like you to call him when you get back from lunch.” She tells Will evenly as she brushes by him with an angry frown. “He’s disappointed in your level of customer service.” 

*

“Mommy isn’t talking to you.” Cailee informs him from her perch on the riding mower beside him. He’s under a car finishing up an oil change. He can’t see anything but the tips of her too big sneakers so he can’t tell what she thinks about this.

“I bet she’s enjoying that.” He mutters and Cailee giggles.

“She said you would say that.”

“I bet your mama says a lot of things about me.”

“Sometimes.” Cailee’s stops laughing, “but today she won’t even let me tell her about how you said you’d take me shopping for my talent show prize. She said she didn’t want to hear anymore about your—” she pauses, considering no doubt the choice words her mother had used, “she didn’t want to hear no more about you.”

He slides out from under the car to fix her with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry I keep making your mama so mad.”

“She makes you mad too.”

“I know, but I say mean things that I shouldn't.”

“You sound like Pop Pop sometimes. It makes Mommy cry.”

You sound like dad. Elle had certainly told him that before, but it stings worse knowing Cailee had noticed. “No one should ever sound like him.” Will stumbles blindly for an explanation. “It's inexcusable.”

“Pop Pop used to say he was sorry.”

“Pop Pop used to keep being a jerk. I'm going to stop being such a jerk. I'm trying.”

*

He hadn't expected to see MacKenzie here, in his sister's house, so when he sees her sitting on the living room floor with Cailee he stops short.

“What are you doing here?”

He sees her freeze, her laughter drying up in her throat before she turns, confused. “Will? I thought—”

She doesn't seem to know what to say so he asks Elle as she appears. “What's she doing here?”

“She's sitting right there.”

“I know. I asked her.” He says a bit indignantly and Elle sighs tiredly. 

“I invited her. I figured you weren’t going to bother showing up so I invited her. I thought it would be nice if my daughter had someone to talk to.”

There isn't anything he can say to that that won't get him in trouble so he only frowns at Elle, nodding absently at MacKenzie when she slips past him muttering something about checking the oven.

*

He’s still trying to figure out how to apologize as he follows Elle into the kitchen after a tense round of greetings had given way to somewhat less tense conversation as she’d ribbed him about showing up empty handed. It isn’t exactly how he'd hoped things would go but he’s trying to take it without saying anything because he’s said enough this week.

“Mac showed up with a cake.” Elle tosses out as he looks up having heard the oven door knock shut. MacKenzie is in the corner of the kitchen, pot holders in hand trying, it seems, to spot an exit other than the door behind him.

“Unless you’re planning on climbing out the window behind you that door’s the only way out.” He tells her and she looks at him cautiously. 

“The roast needs more time but I think the potatoes are done.”

He glances at Elle for direction because he’s not sure what to do with that tentative piece of information and that’s when he notices.

“She was crying in the bedroom when you got here wasn’t she?” He asks turning back to MacKenzie, expecting her to look uncomfortable, but she’s unreadable, her face unhelpfully impassive.

“You were an asshole all week and I haven’t heard from you all weekend. What do you think I was doing, napping?” Elle snaps at him angrily before MacKenzie can say anything.

“Go,” he swallows down his irritation as he gestures at MacKenzie. It isn’t her fault he hadn’t been here when he should’ve been. “Ask Cailee about her trophy from last fall. It should be in the back of her closet somewhere.” Hidden away, he doesn’t tell her because that’s a six year old’s only defense against a drunk man who liked to break things he knew were important.

She nods, reaching to squeeze his arm as she passes by. It surprises him, the show of what he can’t only describe as understanding, but he lets her go without saying anything because Elle is pulling dishes from the cabinets and he needs to stop her before he loses the words he needs to say.

“Elle, please.” He’s careful to speak softly, even if his head is spinning too much to manage gentle. “I wanted to clear my head which is the stupidest—”

“Most selfish.” She corrects and he manages a smile because she’s set the plates on the counter and is watching him. 

“I’ve been a jerk. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Elle kicks at the chipping linoleum with her bare feet. “You actually miss the sorry bastard.”

“Not because—” Will sighs and forces himself to say something. “I feel responsible. Not for him.” He corrects. “For you, Cailee. I didn’t always, before even though I should have. Sometimes I miss that.”

“You’re still growing up.” Elle laughs but there are tears in her eyes.

“Oh Bee.” He whispers, crossing the space between them to wrap his arms around her. She clings to him for a moment as he runs his hand over the back of her head, trying not to think of all the nights he'd done this when she'd been a child small enough to fit in the space between his arm.

“I hate that nickname.” She’s trying for another laugh, but she still sounds miserable, still winds her fingers in the back of his shirt.

“Little Bee.” He teases. LB he'd called her until LB had shifted to Elle, had become the name she’d chosen to go by while their father had screamed Libby down the stairs like he still expected their mother to come running.

“You’re such an asshole.” She says without heat and he laughs, tugs lightly at a fistful of her hair.

“You did check and make sure MacKenzie isn’t a vegetarian didn’t you?”

“In between smearing mascara all over the shoulder of her dress and telling Cailee off for yanking down those ugly curtains, again, yeah I— no you idiot. She’s been eating turkey sandwiches all week. I asked her Friday after we closed if a roast was all right.”

“Right.” He nods. There are too many new pieces of information in that statement for him to parse. The crying and the curtain destroying weren’t exactly new, but the turkey sandwiches, he wonders how he'd missed that and then realizes he’d deliberately chosen not to pay attention. He hadn’t expected MacKenzie to stick around. “You told her she could stay didn’t you?”

“She puts up with your shit. What did you expect?”

He grumbles, making irritated noises in the back of his throat, but he knows better than to say anything else unless he wants to start a fight. “Her work could be—”

“If it was anything less than perfect I would’ve heard about it on Wednesday afternoon. She would’ve heard about it on Wednesday afternoon. You’re not exactly subtle in your disdain.” Elle reminds him, pulling away.

“Yeah.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “It’s— six weeks ago I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

“Six weeks ago I stopped waking up expecting all of this.” Elle peers at him through narrowed eyes. “That’s what happens when you spend your whole life in this house, remember?”

He did. He spent a lot of time trying not to remember. It didn’t do him any good to get that angry. 

“That’s over now.” He reminds her gently, trying not to sound like he’s dismissing her. He isn’t, but he doesn’t know how to reassure her, to tell her things would get better.

“Yeah,” Elle nudges a plastic container on the counter with her elbow, pushing it back toward the wall. “Make sure you don’t scare Mac off, please.”

“If David Nelson—”

“She doesn’t work for David Nelson.”

“She doesn’t work for me either.”

“Oh so now I’m the one in charge.”

He shrugs, faking offense and watches her smile. “You were always the one in charge. Why do you think I was so hopping mad?”

“You’re an idiot.” She swats at him playfully, regaining her good humor. “You’re like Cailee stomping around in your old boots. You think you’re going to make the whole world shake with your bravado but you hardly even scare the ants.”

*

MacKenzie hesitates when she notices he’s seen her; she’s quick and quiet on her feet but she isn’t invisible. He raises his eyebrows as she freezes by the door.

“I thought I should— I left my keys.”

“Sneaking off before dinner.” It’s a little blunt given that he’s just finished apologizing to Elle, but he wants to get to the point.

MacKenzie winces when Elle looks over but doesn’t hesitate. “You’re uncomfortable with me being here. I thought it would be better if the two of you didn’t spend the afternoon arguing about me. You can do that at the shop tomorrow.”

“You got dressed up, came all the way out here with a cake I know you didn’t buy at Barry’s, and you’re worried about my feelings.”

She doesn’t answer him at first. She seems to be trying to decide on something although what isn’t clear until she responds, quietly, apologetically. “I was worried about Cailee. She doesn’t need— I thought I should go. She wants to show you her art project when you have a minute.” 

“Stay, Mac, please.” Elle drops another folded napkin onto the pile of plates. “There’s more than enough food and Will’s promised to behave himself.”

He watches MacKenzie hesitate, watches her study the way Elle’s shoulders have slumped again and wonders if she'd heard the silent plea in Elle’s voice. “If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” Elle assures her and MacKenzie nods, offers her a genuine smile.

“Let me set the table. You should sit.”

“I’m fine.” Elle insists but she sits when MacKenzie pulls out a chair and lets her pick up the stack of dishes she'd left on the counter. “Usually we eat in here, but there’s enough of us now we could eat at the big table in the dining room.”

*

He’s signing off on another repair invoice when he hears the quiet hiss, the same sharp inhale he'd heard the day before when MacKenzie had managed to jab the end of her finger with a steak knife while setting the table.

“What happened?” He asks glancing over to where she’s standing at the sink, scrubbing at her hands with whatever newfangled goo she’d left on the counter that morning.

She doesn’t answer him. Either she was ignoring him or she’s too absorbed by whatever it is to have heard him so he walks over and peers over her shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” She tells him but already he can see the blood welling up from her finger, the red cast to the water clinging to her hands. “I nicked it.”

“You weren’t wearing gloves?”

“I was moving equipment not taking stuff apart.” She meets his would be criticism with calm observation and he has to bite his tongue to stop from scolding her. She should know better.

“Let me see.”

She turns her wrist so he can get a better look, but there’s too much soap, too much grit for him to get a good look so he grabs her hand and pushes it back under the water ignoring her hiss, the spasm in her fingers, as he rinses her hand clean.

“Elle’s good with the first aid kit.” He tells her studying the cut, a narrow slice across the top segment of her ring finger on her right hand. “It’s a clean cut. It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches.”

“I’ve done worse with kitchen knives.” She tells him seriously. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

It isn’t. He watches her work over the next couple of days and while she does more of the heavy lifting left handed it doesn’t seem to slow her down any, not that Elle had noticed.

“Can’t you give her something less,” she searches for the word and then gives up gesturing vaguely.

“Do you want to try giving her office work? I can’t imagine.” He laughs at the face Elle pulls and sighs leaning back in the office chair. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt her manicure any.”

“Will.” Elle says with a tone of voice that suggests just how disappointed she is with him right now. “You’re not still mad at her.”

“I was never mad at her.” He retorts, “just incredibly irritated, and I’m serious about the manicure. What is she thinking—”

“She was trying to be polite on Sunday. I didn’t tell her that half the time we have Sunday dinner in pajamas. She wanted to look nice.”

“There’s a bottle of nail polish sitting on the sink in the shop.” There’s no excuse for that he figures. The only Thursday night event was the blue plate special at the diner in the next town over and that certainly didn’t warrant any special attention. 

“Cailee’s talent show is tonight.”

“Don’t tell me you invited her.” He sits up to glare at her.

“Cailee asked. What was I supposed to say, no? It’s a public event. She doesn’t have to sit with us.”

“And where’s she supposed to sit?” He grumbles. “She doesn’t know anyone else.”

“Will.” Elle meets his grousing with a groan. “Be a big boy for once and try to be nice. I’ll even buy you an ice cream after if you manage not to say anything rude.”

*

Cailee is bouncing around the hall outside the gymnasium by the time he shows up, a little later than he'd anticipated but with a clean shirt and a pair of jeans on. Elle’s nearby talking to one of the other moms, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye, and MacKenzie, he isn’t sure what it is about her that makes her so easy to spot, but she’s there, right there, standing near the refreshments table, silently nodding at something one of the teachers was saying to her.

She’s wearing the dress from Sunday with the same shoes, he thinks although he can’t be sure he’d noticed before even though he’s definitely noticing now. The skirt on her dress goes down to her knees, but her legs still seem to go on forever until they end at what he assumes is a very expensive pair of black heels.

He waves at a couple of dads, old friends from his football days and heads over to rescue MacKenzie. Elle had made him promise to be nice and he might as well start out making an effort so when it all went to hell he’ll have something to lean on.

“MacKenzie.” He slides in alongside her and she smiles at him.

“Will, this is Mr. Wilson. He teaches third grade. He was just telling me about some of his students’ science projects. They sound fascinating.”

He doesn’t bother to tell her that Mr. Wilson’s name was Chad and that Chad had failed biology his sophomore year of high school and he certainly doesn’t tell her that he knew this because Chad had dated Kat, the first McAvoy sister, the one she hadn’t meet, and that Chad wasn’t being polite when he told her he had to go say hello to one of the other teachers, he was running from Will, because the last time Will had spoken to him had been ten years ago when Will had punched him squarely in the jaw.

Personally Will didn’t see a problem with this, the guy had been an ass as a teen, but it was going to be hell in a couple of years when Cailee ended up in his class, because of course Cailee would end up in his class and not the other third grade class. Although by then MacKenzie may have softened him up, assuming she was around long enough, because she sure does wonders for his image that night. She’s sweet and chatty, but polite, always praising him with offhand remarks and throw away comments so no one feels the need to correct her because most of the people here have known him long enough to know he’s a jerk. MacKenzie has known him long enough to know he’s a jerk, but when she slips onto the bleacher beside him she still beams at him before reaching over to snatch his program off his lap.

“They ran out.” Her bottom lip pokes out in a bit of a pout. “You can have it back in a minute.”

*

“What are you doing?” He asks her one afternoon early in to June when he finds her at the computer, studiously squinting at something. 

“There’s a radio that needs fixing and I think I’ve figured it out.”

“There’s a radio in the computer?” He asks in a tone that suggests he knows full well there isn’t and she sighs.

“It’s an odd model. I’d have to wait three days for the guy at the dealers to call me back and let me know if he can even get his hands on a manual. Then I’d have to wait for him to copy off the pages I wanted and then mail them to me. This is faster.”

“This is faster?”

“It took me a while to find the manual online. I know— There’s a forum for classic car enthusiasts. I thought someone on there might know and I was right, so now I’m looking for the relevant pages and I think I’ve found them.”

“The computer is for the bookkeeping.”

“I know.” MacKenzie glances at him. “I asked Elle if it was all right. I know you get billed extra for the internet but she said we could charge Mrs. Kelly for it, that she wouldn’t mind. She’ll be over the moon that someone’s trying to fix her lil old radio.”

“You asked Elle?”

She looks apologetic, a bit flustered, like he’s scolding her and he finds that that irritates him because he’s not. He may be a bit cross that she was costing them money, that she'd gone to Elle again and not him, but he’d had enough lectures from his sister over the last few weeks to know that if it wasn’t illegal, if it was bringing them more business, then no one wanted to hear about how MacKenzie was doing something strange, again. It may be weird but he was going to have to live with it and he had been for weeks now.

“You were out looking at that tractor yesterday and I had an extra minute and I thought.” She bites her bottom lip and waits for him to say something.

“I’m not mad.” He huffs out a sigh and she offers him a small smile.

“I promised Elle I wouldn’t make a habit out of it but Mrs. Kelly is so sweet and—”

“I know.” He doesn't tell her he knows because Mrs. Kelly had been the one his mother had called on the nights when his father had come home a little worse for wear, not quite drunk, not quite violent, but unsettled enough. She'd called and Mrs. Kelly had arrived to cart them off, the four McAvoy kids, including the baby, all bundled in the back of her car regardless of the hour, the weather, or the state of either house. Mrs. Kelly wasn’t sweet; she was a saint. 

“It’s all right. I’ll call Mrs. Kelly and let her know we’ll be hanging on to her car for a couple of extra days. If you get the radio fixed David Nelson wants you to call him about his weed wacker. He says Mrs. Nelson doesn’t give him shit about arguing with you like she does when he yells at Elle so he’d rather talk to you if that’s all right.”

*

“You finished the mowers and the car?” He asks her again and she nods, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand although he doesn’t know why she bothers when there are several grease smears already on her face.

“The car should have taken a full day minimum.”

“It did. It took most of the day.”

“Did you go over the list?”

“The repair list?” She points to where she'd tucked the yellow slip under the windshield wiper. “You can check it yourself.”

He does. She watches until it’s clear that she’s right and he knows it, and then wanders off to the sink to clean up. It’s well past closing and she should’ve gone home by now but he can hear Elle in the office and he knows neither of them would’ve been going anywhere if he hadn’t thought to stop back in.

“You came in early didn’t you?” She turns around, surprised, and waits him out. She isn’t surprised he'd figured it out, she’d been waiting for that he realizes, but she is surprised by how unfazed he seems. He isn’t yelling. Yet.

“Elle,” he calls waiting until he hears the radio turn down to call her again. “Get out here.”

Elle pops her head out of the office door. “Can this wait until tomorrow? I wanted to finish up a couple of things before I go home and Cailee’s getting hungry.”

“Now.” He says sharply and she rolls her eyes and walks over to stand beside Mac.

“All right.” She says. “What?”

“How long has she been coming in early?”

“Have you tried asking her?”

“How long, Elle?” He knows he’s sounding tense but he’s having a hard time caring.

“How long has it been since I gave her the spare garage key? I told you I gave her the copy we used to keep out under the mat.”

“You didn’t tell me it was so she could come in early. It’s bad enough—”

“It’s bad enough what, Will?” MacKenzie cuts in.

“You refuse to take a full lunch break unless I twist your arm. You insist on working after close even though I’ve asked you not to. I know we’re not paying you any extra to show up here outside business hours and yet you insist—”

“On doing my job?” She asks him sincerely without any malice and he really wished she would look more bothered by the fact he’s pissed off because he really wants an excuse to blow off some steam, but she doesn’t and he can’t.

“We can’t afford to pay you—”

“I’m not asking you to.” She cuts him off evenly.

“The state labor board—”

“Nebraska doesn’t have labor laws and the federal statute doesn’t cover small businesses.” 

She wasn’t being smug. She'd checked. He shouldn’t be surprised. She hasn’t spent her whole life up to her elbows in car parts although sometimes he forgets because, despite Elle’s efforts, that’s the only way he knows her.

“Common decency?” He suggests and she smiles at him with a small knowing smile.

“I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t. That’s not the point.” He frowns at her and she tries to look appropriately chastised but he can tell that she’s pleased he’s not as irritated as he had been.

“You need an extra pair of hands around here.” She’s been gentle and not at all coaxing in the way that Elle would be and he finds he doesn’t mind as much as he should that she’s trying to tell him what to do. “Elle could spend some time in the shop.”

“She can’t leave the desk and you’re not going to ask her to spend any more—”

“Jim could come in a couple of days a week. He’s been looking for something in town, part-time. He gets benefits from the VA. He’s not going to ask for more than minimum wage. Two and a half ten hour days, minus lunches would be just about one sixty three thirteen a week. That’s less than half of what you pay me for the same amount of time.”

“Is that your hourly rate or your effective pay?”

She frowns at him then decides to ignore the comment. “You’ll probably end up making more house calls, but I think we could make it work.”

“Did you and Elle cook this up?” He asks her because he knows he’s not going to get a straight answer from his sister.

“I hadn’t—” MacKenzie falters.

“You didn’t think to ask her?” He’s honestly surprised by the slip.

“If she knew how to change a spark plug? Cailee could show you how.” She recovers turning to Elle. “You wouldn’t mind would you?”

“I’ve practically lived in this shop since I was eleven. I think I can manage.”

“Will?” MacKenzie smiles at him again, a quiet secretive smile and he sighs, shrugging because she expects him to.

“When can I meet this Jim?”

“This Jim?” MacKenzie finds this turn of phrase odd and it quickly becomes apparent why.

“He’s your roommate?”

“I never mentioned him?” MacKenzie’s perched on a stack of boxes in the office, the shop behind her dark.

“I knew you lived with someone, a someone.” He emphasizes. “You never said—”

“He’s an old army buddy of mine.” She smiles at his blatant surprise. “I was enlisted. Two years, after I finished school. I needed an excuse to— well it seemed like a good idea at the time. I never saw any action; I never left the States. Jim went overseas a couple of times. He was one of those career types.”

“Until he ended up discharged with benefits.”

“Yeah. You’ll like him. He’ll be good around the office and he doesn’t scare easily.”

“If that was meant to imply—”

“You’re a little rough around the edges.” She laughs, teasing and he frowns at her. Normally he’d be a little offended by someone pointing it out, but it’s obvious she’s joking and it’s the first time she’d tried that with him.

“You’re teasing.”

“Just a little.” She grins. “You don’t mind do you?”

“No.”

“It’s just that you don’t make jokes.” She quantifies when he seems uncertain.

“I make jokes.” The bluster is all for show and she seems to know it because she gives him a look that says she isn’t buying it but she doesn’t disagree. He did make jokes but they were never directed at her, never included her. He’s warmed up to MacKenzie, he knows that, most of the time he doesn’t mind having her around, but he wouldn’t have called them friendly even if, now, it seemed she would.

 

*

Jim it turns out isn’t some Eastcoast transplant. He’s a Midwest native. Kansas City he'd said. Not quite Nebraska, but he had family here, used to have family here. He isn’t a local but he’s the next best thing, Nanny Fischer’s grandson.

“My mom would’ve been a Fischer. She didn’t stick around long after graduation but you might remember my Uncle Coop.”

“Coop.” Will thinks for a second and then shakes his head. “He ever get married, have any kids?”

“He moved to DC then New York, got into late night and moved to LA.”

“Everybody’s getting the hell out of dodge and then there’s you and MacKenzie.” He smiles at the notion. Already he can tell Jim fits in a lot better around town than MacKenzie. MacKenzie he figured would always stick out, although it seemed to suit her and the town well enough.

“You can call her Mac. Most of her friends do.”

“We’re not,” Will protests. “We work together.”

“I think Mac would disagree.” Jim shrugs easily. “Give it a shot.”

*

He’s still a bit weary of her, he hadn’t said as much to Jim, but usually he’s careful around people who seem so effortlessly charming and the fact that he isn’t around MacKenzie makes him wonder what he isn’t seeing. All the same, he does want to know what she’s going to say. She’s been ribbing him playfully for the better part of two weeks now and MacKenzie is too stern an admonishment when she’s grinning like she does, so he waits until she’s preoccupied with a bit of tinkering to try it out.

“Mac, Elle wanted to know if you would mind locking up tonight. I can stay if you’d rather.”

She looks up, bottom lip still drawn in and smiles. “You can tell her I don’t mind. She knows that. I know she’ll worry if I stay too late by myself. You can tell her I promise to leave before it gets dark.”

“You’d better.” He frowns at her, not sure how serious she’s being. “Neither of you are supposed to be here after seven.”

She gives him a look that clearly lets him know she’s humoring him and turns back to the parts she’s been toying with, waiting until he reaches the door to the office to reply. “Oh, and Will, when you tell Jim he’s hired, let him know he’ll fit right in considering he can’t mind his own business.”

*

He can see the light from the TV peeking through the curtains as he pulls up the driveway so he parks around back and slips quietly into the mudroom, carefully leaving his shoes beside the door. It’s early, he knows that, but he’s still surprised that Elle isn’t up, that Cailee’s up alone watching cartoons with the lights off.

It isn’t Cailee he realizes when he still can’t hear the TV from the kitchen. Early morning or not she wasn’t going to watch her cartoons with the sound off.

It’s the news, he can hear the low drone of the local weekend anchor from the hallway as he makes his way through the house, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to listen for Elle before peeking into the living room.

It’s Mac, curled up asleep under one of his mother’s old quilts, her bare feet poking out, one leg thrown up over the armrest.

From the blankets stacked on the end table and the state of her hair he figures she'd spent the night. Why, he doesn’t have a clue, but he figures Elle will enlighten him as soon as he drags her out of bed.

“You’re early.” She’s frowning at him from in front of her closet.”You could’ve knocked.”

“I thought you were sleeping.” With the light on, he doesn’t add because he should’ve noticed that. 

“Mac’s the only one sleeping.” Elle softens a bit as Cailee giggles, “I’m sleeping,” from under the blankets on Elle’s bed.

“She called you?”

“Yeah.”

“In the middle of the night?” He continues not knowing why he doesn’t just ask her what happened.

“I assume you would think so.”

“You picked her up?”

Elle glances at him, looking a bit exasperated. “How else was she supposed to get here? Jim’s been out of town for a couple of days. You know that.”

“I don’t see what that—”

“She was having trouble sleeping. She wanted to watch some TV.”

“She doesn’t have a TV?” He feels like he’s missing something. He knows that isn’t it, but Elle’s beating around the bush, for Cailee’s sake or Mac’s he isn’t sure, but he figures he has to start somewhere.

“She has a radio.” Cailee supplies, crawling out of the bed to pad over and wrap her arms around his legs in greeting. “It’s really old and cool looking. Jim says he found it at a junk shop. Mac says he—”

“We’re going to be late.” Elle interrupts with a pointed look in his direction. “Go put the coffee on and find us something to eat. Cailee go put your dress on and don’t tell me you can’t find it. I left it out for you last night.”

Cailee whines and looks up at him hopefully but he only shakes his head. “Go get dressed.”

“She’s lonely.” Elle points out bluntly as soon as Cailee disappears. “She doesn’t have anyone else. With Jim gone she’s stuck in her apartment alone.”

“She was here yesterday.”

“Will.”

“I’m not missing the point. I’m—”

“Only saying that you have a heart of stone and you never once missed anyone.”

“Now you know that isn’t true.”

She smiles at him suddenly, brightly. “How the hell did I ever get you to go back to Lincoln after Cailee was born?”

“Trade secret.” He says solemnly.

“My trade secret.”

“Doesn’t matter, not telling. I’ll go put the coffee on.”

*

“I can’t.” Mac looks at him, hopefully but he knows better than to get Elle riled up now when he was going to have to spend the next couple of hours with her and a church full of people.

“It’s not my favorite thing either,” he commiserates, “but they’re good people.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I already thought of that.” Elle grins triumphantly. “You’re too tall for most of my dresses, but I have a couple of blouses that should fit and I dug a few skirts out of the stuff one of the girls asked me to drop off at the church.”

“Shoes.” Mac protests weakly, but she seems to have realized she’s already lost because she quietly follows Elle into the dining room where he can hear Elle tossing out comments on the various possibilities as he straightens up the couch, Cailee perched in the armchair watching cartoons with the sound off.

“Boring.” She declares when he glances over and he laughs at her how sure she sounds in her assertion: grownups certainly were baffling.

*

When Elle had shoved the box into his arms and pointed down the driveway he hadn’t thought to argue. There was only one apartment complex in town, it wasn’t as if Mac could be living anywhere else, but it doesn’t dawn on him that he doesn’t actually know where she lives until he’s pulling into the gravel parking lot.

“McHale, McHale, Harper.” He mutters to himself reading down the tags beside the buzzers at the front door. “3c.”

He’s about to try the door, just in case, when it pops open and Sandy Collins appears, door propped open by her slippered foot. “Are you waiting for Mac? I can let you in.”

“Ashley’s friends with Cailee right?” He asks by way of greeting and Sandy shrugs. “They are now. That girl of mine has an attitude like no other. Cailee seems to be the only friend she manages to keep for more than a week at a time.”

Will smiles and leans into the door so she can step back. “Drop her by the shop this week and she and Cailee can terrorize the place for the day.

“Yeah? All right. You got any more boxes?”

He knows she’s only offering to be polite but he’s careful to smile anyway as he moves through the entryway. “Just this one.”

“Best get climbing then.” She nods toward the stairs and he sighs, shifting his grip on the box.

He doesn’t want to put the box down to knock, but Mac isn’t expecting him, so he stands for a minute, jamming the box against the wall so he can hold it one handed and manage a quick rap.

The door opens almost immediately and he has to stop himself from taking a step back and sending the box crashing to the floor.

“Will?” She’s dressed for work and despite the cup of coffee in her hand it’s obvious she’s been up for awhile.

“What are you? Is everything? Did something—”

“Gift from Elle.” He has a decent enough grip on the box that he doesn’t quite throw it at her, but the presentation is nowhere near graceful.

“She,” Mac frowns at the box a bit bemused. “You know your sister’s up to something.”

“She’s always up to something.” He grumbles a bit until he sees the start of a smile. “She didn’t want the zucchini loaves to sit in her car all day.”

“She could’ve brought them into the shop.” She laughs lightly before continuing.” “You might as well come in.” 

She takes a step back but he doesn’t immediately follow. It hits him suddenly that he’s intruding. He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t been invited and he hadn’t called to ask.

“I was just going to drop this off and—” he tries but Mac’s smile only grows.

“Get in here before you let all the cold air out.”

He’s not sure what cold air she’s talking about because even at this time of morning the apartment is sticky with early summer heat, but he supposes it would be worse, up here on the third floor without the AC running.

“Where did you want this?” He’s two steps in past the door, not even far enough into the apartment to see around the end of the closet into the living room, where he figures the box will have to go. There isn’t anyplace else it can go unless she wants it in a bedroom, which he hopes to god she doesn’t.

He hasn’t been in this apartment, but most of the units in this building were the same. The apartments were small, dark in the winter, decently lit only now at the height of summer. Management kept them freshly painted, but the walls and the cabinets were dinged, the plumbing always needed work, the countertops were chipped.

He knows what he pays her, he’s not being unrealistic, he knows she isn’t going to be renting out one of the grand old houses in the center of town, but there had been a part of him that had refused to put the pieces together.

He'd known she was living here. She'd told him. Jim had mentioned it, but he hadn’t thought anything of it. She spent most of her time in jumpsuits smeared with grease, but she still showed up to work most days in nice clothes, still insisted on wearing dresses when she went over to Elle’s. She'd come from a place very different from this and he’s realized he likes that about her.

“On the counter’s fine.” She turns back to grin at him. “There’s another cup of coffee if you’re interested.”

“I wasn’t planning on—”

“Elle’s going to be disappointed if I don’t give you a tour.”

“I don’t think Elle—”

“Ever minds her own business? I know.” She’s still smiling, although he notices that it’s faltered a bit. She’s teasing and he’s being gruff.

“I should have called.” He tries to offer an explanation as she pats the counter beside the stove so he’ll put the box down.

She softens, her smile becoming shy and he realizes it’s because she thinks he’s being sweet. “No one in this town calls before they stop by.”

“Elle calls you.”

“To make sure I don’t want her to stop somewhere on the way over. She doesn’t seem to think I can feed myself.”

Mac seems amused by the idea so he doesn’t bother pointing out that his sister’s not the only one that holds that belief. He hasn’t seen Mac eat much other than sandwiches and cold soup out of a can unless it was leftover from something Jim or Elle had made.

“Still.” He nods toward the door, not insisting, but offering, but she’s still smiling reaching for a mug to pour him the cup of coffee she'd offered and he finds that maybe he doesn’t mind, that whatever the hell Elle was up to, he’d let her get away with it just this once because there’s something easy about the way Mac moves around this space, something open about the way she smiles. “All right, but I really can’t stay long. I have a twenty minute drive to make before eight AM.”

*

“That place is a dump.” He doesn’t bother waiting until Elle has flipped over the closed sign. She’s locked the door and that’s good enough for him.

“That place is a lot nicer than the one I could afford if the bank had been stupid enough to approve a second mortgage on the house.”

“She’s only paying half the rent. She could afford a nicer place than that.”

Elle looks at him skeptically.

“I can—”

“You, Lincoln hotshot, could afford to pay six months rent up front.” She reminds him without malice. “She’s doing the best she can and if she for a second thinks that you don’t respect that.”

“I know.” He says apologetically. “You’ll drag me through the streets by my hair if I even think about saying something.”

“So you’re going to be nice and not say anything unless she asks.”

“Elle—” he’s not arguing because he disagrees. He’s not an idiot. He knows Mac doesn’t need him pointing out that she deserves better. He isn’t protesting because he disagrees, but rather because he can’t believe Elle, “you really think I would say something?”

Elle squints at him considering. “Not intentionally. You’re not a total asshole. Not on purpose anyway.”

“That’s a great vote of confidence.” It comes out a little rough, a little sharp and she shakes her head at him, brushing off the words.

“It’s all right to try and be nice sometimes.” She reminds him and he pulls a face, half sarcastic grin and half exasperated frown.

“Try it some time. She has a pretty smile when you catch her off guard with something sweet.”

He doesn’t reply to that. Whatever he says is going to get twisted around until Elle’s chuckling at her own cleverness, he can see that now.

“I’ll be in the back.” He says instead of replying. “Feel free to go back to your scheming and baking once you’re done locking up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Moodboard](http://daylightbegins.tumblr.com/post/172878222005/i-did-hire-a-mechanic-thats-the-thing-he)


	2. Chapter 2

When Mac comes in the next morning she stops by the back door to shake her head irritably, water splattering against the wall behind her.

“I didn’t think it was raining that hard.”

She jumps and he hides a smile as she searches for where he’s sitting against the garage door.

“I wasn’t expecting you in this early.”

“Elle asked me to drop Cailee off at the Kellys’. I thought since we were all up.”

“I forgot that was this morning.”

“So she told you what she’s up to?”

Mac narrows her eyes at him and reaches up to run a hand through her hair with an aggravated sigh.

“You really got soaked didn’t you? I didn’t think it was supposed to rain until later.”

“I’m wearing shorts and a raincoat. It was definitely supposed to rain. It wasn’t supposed to be this windy. My hood kept blowing down.”

Shorts. He'd missed that, although he’s not sure how. He’s seen her legs before. She still insisted on wearing dresses to Sunday dinner and she’s come into the shop a few times in a skirt on days when she knew she’d be living in a jumpsuit to avoid the mess, but he hasn’t seen her in shorts, and there’s something about the shorts.

“You patched them.” He realizes where he'd seen the shorts before, they’re a pair of cutoffs, an old pair of jeans she'd torn on a stray bit of barbed wire out in a field a couple of weeks ago.

“It’s duct tape.” She steps farther into the shop, into the light and he can see now that she’s right. What he'd assumed where patches were actually strips of colored duct tape crossed over what had been the worst of the tears.

“They look nice.”

“They’re ridiculous and a little too short, but Elle kept insisting they were fine so here I am soaking wet and a bit concerned that I might have bought cheap duct tape.”

“There’s a role of the industrial stuff under the front counter.” He assures her and she laughs, suddenly much less serious.

*

He hears her exhale sharply, a cut off curse he knows he wasn’t supposed to hear. “Everything all right?”

“I forgot Elle wasn’t here. Jim’s left town and—” She heaves out a sigh and rolls her head across her shoulders. “I lost track of time and it’s still pouring.”

“All right.” He says not putting the pieces together and she sighs again.

“Would you mind giving me a lift. I know it’s in the opposite direction of your place but it’s too wet now to be safe and,” she trails off.

“How’d you get here this morning.”

“I rode my bike. The thing with two wheels.” She continues, unable to resist teasing when she sees his confusion. “You pedal it with your feet.”

“A bike. A bike you— not a motorcycle? I know I didn’t hear— but—”

“It’s the 1890s women are biking to work. How novel.”

“1990s.” He corrects, but it’s hard to grumble and groan when she’s laughing at him, honestly laughing at him. “I’m glad you’re amused.”

“You look so shocked.” She giggles. “It’s been two months and—” she shakes her head and stops herself.

“You’ve been riding your bike all the way down here this entire time?”

“Only when Jim wasn’t in town and Elle couldn’t pick me up.”.

“So basically yes.”

“So basically nothing.” She throws back with a grin.

*

They’re halfway to her place before he realizes she hasn’t said anything since they’d left the Meuller farm, not even to complain about whatever he has playing on the radio.

He'd asked her that morning when he'd picked her up from the shop if she was all right and she'd smiled at him, assured him that she was, but she hadn’t done anything since then to convince him, if anything her continuing silence did the opposite.

She isn’t mad. He'd considered that but he'd seen her smile, had heard her laugh when he'd teased her. She isn’t mad but she has been quiet, thoughtful.

“Do you mind if we walk awhile?” He asks her suddenly, already signaling on the empty road to pull over.

“Yeah,” she shakes her head a bit and glances over at him. “Sorry?”

“The sunset.” He offers the only excuse he can think of as he pulls off onto a farm road, scooting the truck far enough off the shoulder that it won’t get rear-ended it if someone pulls off behind him.

“You want to.” She says and he’s not sure if it’s a statement or a question despite the fact she slides from the truck without protest when he pulls her door open.

“It’s just up here.” He points toward the windbreak part way up the field and she shrugs falling in step behind him as he starts up the road.

“We could’ve driven.” She tells him after a moment and he chuckles.

“It’s less of an adventure that way.”

“Adventure.” She doesn’t sound convinced but it’s the closest he’s heard her to amused all day so he pushes his luck, shrugging.

“There’s not a lot going on out here in farm country.”

“That’s a lie.” She tells him flatly and he turns toward her.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” She asks. She’s trying to play it off like she doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about but it’s clear she’s avoiding the question, suddenly, studiously watching the ground as she picks her way up the path.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He offers firmly and she chuckles bitterly, tossing her head.

“You asked.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“My brother called.” She cuts him off, glancing up at him with a frown.

He knew she spoke to her brother occasionally. She'd never mentioned him, but both Jim and Elle had let things slip assuming he'd known, assuming Mac would’ve told him, despite the fact he still insisted they didn’t talk, not really. They kept to mundane things: the shop, the upcoming weekend, last week.

He nods, sighing softly, and holds out a hand to help her over a drainage ditch. She doesn’t need the help, but she lets him lay his hand on her arm, lets him keep it there as they fall into step alongside one another.

“He—” she starts and then falls silent for awhile. “He’s not suppose to call the shop unless it’s an emergency. I told Elle I’d pay for the long distance charges.”

“Mac don’t worry about,” he stops when she pulls away, leaning to pluck the leaves off of several nearby grass stems.

“I got a little upset, a little loud. There wasn’t anyone in the shop, but.” she kicks up a cloud of dirt. “I shouldn’t have.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I—” he cuts himself off. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” It’s a reflexive response he notices as she steps in front of him, continuing along the road.

“I’m sorry you’re having a shitty day.” He offers honestly.

“It’s not— wasn’t.” She fumbles and then gives up, taking a couple of quick steps to stay ahead of his longer stride. “I learned a lot.”

She always did on their days out he knew. She was a quick study, asking questions, rehashing what he'd told her to make sure she had it right.

“I’d better watch out.” He smiles. “Pretty soon you and Elle will be running the place without me. You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Elle,” Mac considers. “Sometimes I think she— She’s happy here but.”

“She had big dreams.” She lets him cut in. “They got put on hold for awhile. It’s hard, sometimes,” he sighs a bit frustrated with the inadequacy of his words. “I’m hoping in a couple of months we’ll be able to afford to sign her up for distance learning classes.”

“You’re proud of her.” The observation makes her sound sad and for a moment he doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, I am. She works hard. She’s a good mom.”

“She knows, you know, that you’re proud of her. I—” Mac heaves a sigh. “She’s young, you don’t—”

“Worry about her?” He asks gently watching the way her shoulders drop farther as she stares at the ground still moving. “Big brothers can be a pain in the ass. It’s kind of our job.”

She doesn’t laugh and he frowns, wondering what it is she wants him to say, because she’s trying to get at something; she wouldn’t have brought it up if she wasn’t, but he doesn’t have a clue what it is.

“He keeps asking me to fly ho— to fly back to New York for the holidays.” She says it quietly, stopping beside the windbreak to tug irritably at the sleeves of her sweatshirt, oversized and flecked with dirt.

“You can have the time if you want it.” He offers softly, carefully bland, and he’s not entirely surprised to see her pull her arms around herself as she makes her way down the row to an old stump.

“I know, that’s not— it’s complicated.” She shifts uncomfortably on her impromptu seat and squints at the horizon. “My parents are mortified I’m out here. It’s bad enough I spent six months waiting tables in Lincoln, but I was helping a friend, my dad at least finds that a little noble.”

“And now you’re settling in.” He offers as he steps up beside her, careful not to lean back into the brambles. There’s enough room, just, that he could squeeze in beside her on the stump, but he doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want her to feel like he’s crowding her.

“I love it here.” She says quietly. “He thinks this is some sort of phase, just like everything else was supposed to be a phase. I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t.”

“What if I can’t stay?” He can hear the ache in her voice but it’s gotten dark enough that he can only make out the general outline of her features, not the finer details that might tell him what she’s thinking.

“You’re always—”

“Why did you come back?”

“Here?” He considers. “I don’t think I ever really left. Lincoln isn’t that far away when you think about it.”

“It’s a thousand miles away.” She disagrees. “It’s not anything like this. It’s not—”

He lays his hand on her shoulder fleetingly, just long enough that she looks up at him and offers him the glimmer of a smile.

“Maybe it’s not so much the place but the people.” He tells her honestly as she looks away. “Family’s complicated.”

“They love me and care about me and,” he can tell she’s pulling a face, irritated with the platitudes she rambling through.

“No, It’s more,” he turns from her toward the setting sun with a soft smile. “They’re more likely to have a stick up their ass when it comes to your life is all. Sometimes you have to tell them to fuck off.”

“Elle.” He can hear the amusement in her voice.

“We’re not exactly subtle.”

“No.” She stands bumping against his arm, keeping close until the sun dips below the horizon.

When they start back toward the truck she’s quiet, concentrating on not tangling her feet in the grass along the windbreak. It’s not quite dark, but what little light there is rapidly fading. She stumbles a bit and he lets her go, but when she catches her foot again he takes her arm and guides her in front of him, carefully steering her down the clearest path until they reach the road.

“There.” He smiles, releasing her arm only to be surprised when she turns back to grab the sleeve of the flannel shirt he had pulled on as they’d packed up at the end of the day.

“I don’t have bat eyes like you.” She whispers and he has to stop himself from chuckling, stop himself from correcting her.

“You don’t need to whisper. There’s nothing out here that’s going to bother you except maybe a stray cat and you don’t seem to mind them.”

“Oh,” she says in a way that suggests she'd known that but she doesn’t elaborate, so he tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and takes a couple of slow steps, making sure she’s coming with him.

They’re almost back to the truck when she stops and he comes up short as she yanks back on his arm to stop him from dragging her with him.

“Wait.” Her hand slips aways and he hears stones crunching as she squats, still close enough that she brushes his pant leg. 

“There’s. Oh.” There’s a quiet awed exhale and he sees what she’s spotted, a lone firefly resting on a plant at the end of a row. “What?”

“Firefly. Never seen one?”

“It’s,” she laughs a little, startled when it flashes again. “I didn’t know they blinked.”

“Yeah.” He kneels beside her, watching the beetle’s progress. “We’re not far from the canal. They like it wet.”

She nods, not turning toward him.

“Stay there for a second?” He asks, taking a couple of experimental steps toward the truck when she doesn’t reply, before turning and trudging down the remaining road, listening carefully for any sign of protest.

He keeps a flashlight in the truck, another in his toolbox. He grabs them both wishing he had a jar, although he thinks she might find it cruel, caging the fireflies for her entertainment, but he wanted to offer it to her, wanted to see her face when she looked up and saw the rest of the field flashing like lightning.

“I have a trick.” He sits in the dirt beside her and she bumps against him, falling gracelessly to join him. “Here.”

He hands her a flashlight, shows her how to turn it on and off, mimicking the flashes of light in the field. He’s careful to watch her face in the bursts of light, his heart swelling when she finally looks up and gasps, fumbling to grab his arm to tug on it, make sure she has his attention because for a moment she’s speechless but wanting to share, and he grins.

He keeps quiet while she works her way through words, mumbling, trying to place them together in a way that makes sense.

“They’re beautiful.” He agrees when she renews her grip on his arm and she laughs light and airy, stretching her free hand out in the dark, shrieking, he assumes, when a beetle alights on her hand.

She laughs harder, then quiets slowly, leaning into him as she takes long slow breaths between spurts of giggles, gleeful like Cailee with a fresh tray of brownies or a new stuffed toy, but magical in a way he hadn’t expected. He’s heard her laugh before, he’s made an idiot of himself to make her laugh enough times that he doesn’t mind admitting it, but he’s never seen her like this, so happily caught up in something to the point that he hates the thought of ever having to leave this field.

She seems younger, more her age, he realizes as she laughs. She is young, only a couple of years older than Elle. The technical schooling and her subsequent enlistment made the gap seen larger, but she’s a year younger than Kat, and he wonders if that’s what makes him feel so protective of her.

“Are they going to sleep?” She asks and he looks up, back toward where they’d sat to watch the sun set.

“I don’t know. They come out at dawn and dusk. They quiet down once it gets properly dark, maybe they all bed down for the night.”

“They’re not cows.” She chastises lightly and then sighs. “We have to go don’t we?”

“We can stay a little longer.” He chuckles to himself. “My butt hasn’t gone numb yet. I should still be able to drive you home.” 

*

“Mommy, there’s a box,” Cailee whines as she climbs the steps to the porch where Will’s sitting with his feet propped up on what’s left of the railing.

“That’s all right.” Elle assures her before snapping at him. “Feet down.”

“It’s already broken.” He mimics Cailee’s whine, but drops his feet to the floor, and straightens to wave at Mac who’s watching the three of them dubiously.

“I was trying to be nice and wait outside instead of breaking in.”

“You have a key,” Elle butts in to remind him but he ignores her to scoop Cailee up in a bear hug.

“How was church?”

“Boring.” Cailee adds in a couple of extra o’s as Elle unlocks the door with an exasperated huff.

“She didn’t want to sit through the children’s sermon before Sunday school.”

“Someone was excited about the arts and crafts again.” Will drops Cailee to her feet and follows Elle into the house.

“You—” Elle turns to him, “you oaf. You started the lasagna.”

“I overslept.” He shrugs. “I figured it’d be easier to take my punishment out on the porch instead of getting kicked out of a house that smelled this good.”

“I wouldn’t.” She scoffs. “Go grab that box before Mac tries to bring it in, please.”

*

“I can’t wear that.” Mac is protesting when he wanders back in from the yard where he’d been taking a look at the roof, again. He really should pull the old ladder out of the shed and climb up there but he kept hoping the problem would go away, kept checking to make sure it wasn’t getting any worse.

“MacKenzie.” Elle’s tone isn’t brokering any argument but, too busy shaking her head, Mac doesn’t seem to notice. “What do you have on under that blouse?”

“What?” She'd glanced at him when she’d heard him at the door but she turns back to Elle, confused.

“Tank top?”

“Yeah,” Mac hesitates.

“Good.” Elle throws a shirt at her, “put that on.”

“Elle.”

“Now.”

He glances down at Cailee who’s come over to lean against him, watching the two women with open curiosity.

“It’s funny being on the other side isn’t it?” He acknowledges and she nods as Mac continues to protest.

“These are too nice. I can’t—”

Elle cuts her off, tossing her a sweater and then a skirt and Mac sighs, slipping first one arm and then the other into the cardigan’s sleeves.

“I knew you two were the same size.” Elle beams, pleased with herself and leans over to dig through the box some more.

Mac tries on the rest of the clothes without complaint, but takes a step back at the sight of the cocktail dress in the bottom of the box. “That should go to the charity auction. Julie doesn’t give her clothes to people, you said so yourself. She always donates them to the hospital for—”

“It can go to the auction.” Elle ignores her protests placidly, “on you.”

“No Elle, please.” Mac tries again but she seems to know there’s no point in arguing because she takes the dress when Elle hands it to her.

“Go put it on in the other room.” Elle shoos her off. “I’ll zip you up.”

He feels Cailee move, shift away to follow Mac, questions immediately tumbling out of her mouth as she reaches the door to the dining room. Why was the dress that color? Was is supposed to be that short?

He smiles and watches Elle shake her head as she folds the clothes Mac had discarded, placing most of them back in the box for Mac to take home, setting the others aside to hold on to until the hospital started taking donations.

“You could’ve let Julie call Mac.”

“Mac’s a little scared of the woman: her daddy’s rich, her husband’s rich, she’s loud and warm and everyone loves her.”

“Do you really think,” he starts to ask before Elle continues.

“She would’ve taken the box and hidden it in the back of her closet. There’s no point in good clothes going to waste, especially when they don’t have to be hacked to pieces to be made to fit.”

He frowns and shrugs because she isn’t wrong about that, but he still hated how uncomfortable Mac seemed to feel.

“I can’t reach.” Mac appears, one arm twisted behind her back, and Elle rolls her eyes, walking over to tug on the zipper.

“It fits.” Elle looks pleased but Mac catches his eye, bottom lip drawn in.

He circles a finger through the air, prompting her to turn and he watches her sigh, step carefully in a circle so he can get a better look at the deep green fabric, the clean lines of the dress, the way the light shifts in the folds, the slight shimmer the fabric seems to hold as she moves.

She stops and regards him and he nods, offers her a smile and she relaxes a bit, bends to tug at the hem.

“Stop fussing.” Elle swats her hand away. “It’ll do.”

“I can’t,” Mac tries again, but Elle’s already turned back toward the kitchen.

“Go borrow a pair of my pajamas. Cailee already got glitter on it but I don’t want you getting sauce on your skirt.”

*

“Put your bike in the bed.”

She looks over at him from where she’s standing under the lip of the garage roof, watching the sky. They’ve cleaned up, locked up for the night. If it were any other day he’d figure she was hanging around so she could sneak back inside to take a look at one last thing, but that isn’t it. Not tonight.

“You shouldn’t be out when the sky’s like that.” He tells her trying not to sound like he’s irritated at whoever had forgotten to tell her that.

“I know. I heard the weather warnings.”

“Put your bike in the truck, Mac.” He tells her firmly. They’ve had a good year, but that didn’t mean a thing as far as he was concerned. “You haven’t seen a twister and I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Will.” She’s frustrated with him but he’s not backing down. “Fine.”

He heads for the truck, waiting till he hears her yanking irritably at the tailgate before he opens his door and hops in.

“It’s July and we’re west of Grand Island, but that doesn’t make us immune.” He tells her gently, trying to smooth things over but she’s still staring darkly out the window. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Order me around like a child.” She cuts in and he has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her.

“I’m sorry.”

She makes a noncommittal noise, choked and somewhat aggravated and they sit in silence as he winds his way through town.

“I wanted to get groceries.” She says in a rush when he stops at a light, the words tumbling out like she might be trying to apologize or at least let him know she’s not going to sulk the whole way to her place because she sounds less pissed now that they’re through the main commercial strip.

“We can stop by Barry’s.” He turns on his blinker to swing around the block and she’s protesting, still annoyed but definitely apologetic. “It’s back the other way. Will— don’t— Will.”

“I need milk.” He tells her. 

“Will.” She tries again but when he continues back through town she goes back to staring out the window, silent even when he swings into the parking lot

*

“Did you stop off home?” Elle calls when she hears him stomping his feet on the back porch.

“I didn’t eat if that’s what you’re after.” He grins at her, poking his head through the door, reaching to muss up Cailee’s hair as she frowns down at the coloring book she has open on the floor. “I gave Mac a lift. Stopped to pick up a couple of things. I brought dessert.”

He holds up the box of chocolate chip cookies, laughing when Cailee immediately grabs for it. “Dinner first.”

“You stopped at Barry’s?” Elle leans back against the table regarding him with open curiosity.

“I needed milk.”

“Before or after you dropped Mac off?”

“She needed peanut butter.” He says more defensively than he should, but if the look on Elle’s face is any indication, and it always is, he’s stuck his foot in his mouth again.

“She needed peanut butter or she needed groceries?”

“Groceries.” He admits dropping the cookies onto the counter.

“And where do I buy my groceries?”

“I’m not an—” He swallows the rest of his complaint along with his usual quip about the bushels of produce that are forever materializing outside her door. “The big box store.”

“Because—” she prods and he winces to himself.

They were cheaper, significantly so. “So I— I messed up.”

“You were gone a long time.” Elle reminds him, surprisingly gentle in her assessment. “You find corner stores charming. You don’t mind the extra cost because they’re convenient and you’re helping someone out, supporting local business.”

“Maybe,” he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t need to apologize to her, but he can’t exactly apologize to Mac either, not without making them both feel worse about the entire thing. “I should—”

“I’ll call her later.”

He’s relieved that Elle is letting him off the hook but he knows she can’t always be stepping in to smooth things over. “Maybe I should,” he tries again, relieved when Elle smiles.

“If Cailee decides to get out of bed tomorrow the two of you can pick up a couple of things before you drop her off at Sandy’s. I’ll tell Mac you’re planning on stopping up.”

*  
He knows Elle had said a couple of things, and he knows realistically that he’s apologizing not trying to make a point, but Cailee looks so gleeful, helpfully pointing out the things that Elle picks up for Mac and the items Mac most often dumps into her cart on their joint grocery trips, that he buys a few extra things, a couple of things he knows are more than likely for Jim and a pair of breakfast sandwiches from the gas station around the corner.

“Hi,” she answers the door, immediately stepping aside as Cailee barrels through the door, disappearing into the back of the apartment.

“Hi,” he smiles back hoping he doesn’t look like an idiot with his arms full of groceries. “I think maybe I shouldn’t have asked Cailee for help, but I didn’t know what to get other than peanut butter.”

“You bought half the store.”

He thinks she might be teasing but it’s hard to tell because she’s not smiling anymore and the knot in his stomach is telling him he’s stepped in it again.

“I,” he sighs and shrugs, following her as she turns toward the kitchen. “There’s some things in here for Jim. I think.” He amends smiling as he hears Jim behind him getting up from the couch.

“Freeze pops and bugles?” Jim grins a moment later, digging through the bags. “That girl deserves a medal.”

“You’re ten years old.” Mac frowns at him, but she’s relaxed a bit at the sight of Jim’s enthusiasm.

“I have my vices.” Jim admits but he’s still grinning, ignoring the way Mac’s carefully lining up the groceries on the counter as he pulls another bag over to take a look.

“Wavy chips. Cans of—” He stops when there’s a sharp crash from one of the bedrooms, all three of them turning to look. 

“I could—” Will volunteers when it’s clear Mac’s too absorbed with glaring at Jim to say anything.

“No, it’s,” she sighs, offering him a weak smile. “I’ll go see what she got into.”

“I had some unexpected expenses.” Jim says quietly as she disappears down the hall. “Mac offered to help so we’re both a little short this month. It’s nothing we can’t— it’s fine. I just thought— she’s a little touchy. It’s nothing personal.”

“Oh,” Will breathes out as Jim pops open an empty cabinet and starts shoving boxes in. It isn’t particularly tidy, but it is efficient, something Will appreciates when Jim opens another empty cabinet, carefully lining up the jars of peanut butter Will had bought, before shoving the cereal in beside what Will quickly surmises is a mostly empty box of Lucky Charms.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen cupboards this bare but it’s not the surprise as much as the shock of memory that nags at him. He’d been lucky growing up that his father hadn’t drank away all their money, that his mom had worked some to buy him new shoes and the toy cars he'd really wanted. Things had gotten harder once his siblings had arrived, his brother and Kat in quick succession, Elle several years later, but the memory of the shame of empty cupboards, the growling of an empty stomach still stings.

“I wasn’t intending,” he fumbles and Jim glances over at him with a knowing smile. “I was trying to apologize.”

“I think she knows.” Jim’s rapid-fire restocking continues as he slots cans of soup into place beside the cans of chili Will slips in. “The first thing I learned when I came back from overseas was how to swallow my pride. The second thing I learned was how damn stubborn Mac can be. I was planning on reupping; that clearly didn’t happen.”

“I know what it’s like to want to do things on your own.” Will shakes his head. “I never would’ve hired Mac if I hadn’t been set straight, but sometimes you need people. There’s a pantry in the church basement. Elle can lend you her key if you’re worried about it being locked up. It hardly ever is, but just in case. She won’t ask any questions.”

*

He’s up on the roof, fixing the hole the latest storm had left in the shingles when he spots her coming up the road t-shirt tucked in one of the skirts from Julie, her helmet on but unhooked until she pauses within sight of the house to snap the strap under her chin. He was going to have to have a talk with her about that.

“You’re not going to snitch on me are you?” He calls to her as she props her bike up against the shed and she leans back shielding her eyes to find him.

“For what?”

“Being up on the roof.” He turns and sits so his feet are dangling over the eaves.

“You told Elle you were going to patch that leak.”

“Not without anyone home.” He points out, “Miss I always ride my bike with my helmet on.”

“It was on.” 

He has to stop himself from smiling at the outrage in her voice. “Until you take a tumble.”

“Don’t you dare tell Elle.”

“She won’t hear a word from me.” He promises before carefully heading down the ladder. “She worries too much as it is.”

Mac snorts and then crosses the yard to shove both hands into his chest.

“Hey,” he takes a step back as she glares. “What’s that about?”

“Blackmailing me into keeping quiet.” She takes another step forward and he sidesteps the ladder trying to keep some space between them.

“I could’ve been down off the roof before you made it to the end of the driveway. If I’d been worried about you snitching—”

“You—” She glares at him and then seems to reconsider, gaze softening until he can tell she’s hesitating.

“What is it? Mac?” He adds gently.

“You asked me not to say anything and then you,” she frowns at him. It’s not an uncommon ploy of his when he’s teasing her and she seems to recognize that, but there’s something bothering her.

“I didn’t mean to—” he drops off when she shakes her head. “What’s up, MacKenzie?”

Her head snaps up when he says her name and he offers her a slow smile. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.” She tells him, but he can tell from the way she glances past him, shifts to peek toward the driveway, that that’s not entirely true. “Jim told you about his medical bills, didn’t he?”

Will nods and leans back against the house, willing to wait until she’s ready to say more.

“I should’ve said something, but,” she looks at him momentarily, gaze sliding away when she speaks. “I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.”

“For what?” He asks genuinely curious. He knows Elle had been the one to write out the thank you note to Julie, Mac too unsure of what to say to put pen to paper, but he hadn’t expected this. “For being the best damn employee anyone could ask for?”

“You pay me more than you have to.” She confesses carefully, “I shouldn’t—”

“The hell I do.” He cuts in. “I’d pay you twice as much if I thought you’d let me.”

“Will.”

“Stubborn woman,” he adds when she tries to interrupt and he sees the beginning of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “You didn’t come all the way out here to chew me out, did you?”

“No,” she smiles at him shyly. “I came to say thank you. Jim’s been living off the cans of chili you bought him.”

“And you’ve been enjoying the peanut butter?”

“Well yeah.” She smiles more broadly and he laughs.

*

“Elle,” Mac sighs and he knows whatever they’re up to he’s better off hanging out in the mudroom for a minute.

“You’re perfectly capable.”

“I— Elle.”

“Will can help,” Elle raises her voice, obviously amused, “when he stops lurking out on the porch.”

“I wasn’t lurking.” He leans against the doorframe to protest. “I had to get my boots off.”

“Very very quietly.” Elle smirks at him with raised eyebrows and he frowns at her.

“What am I helping with?”

“Bread. I have another eight loaves that need to go in the oven and my arms can’t take any more. If you and Mac could do half.”

“What happened to your mini me?”

“She’s boycotting.” Elle smiles fondly. “We did the loaves for church last night. She’s watching a movie.”

“Go find somewhere else to be. We’ll finish up here.”

“Show off. There’s flour.”

“In the cabinet next to the stove.” He finishes with her. “Go.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She laughs as she leaves and he heads to the sink to scrub his hands, Mac still standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring uncertainly at the counter.

“You have flour.” He takes her chin in his hand suddenly, wiping at the white residue on her cheek before she has a chance to protest.

“I must’ve,” she raises her hand, wrist bent as if to rub at her eye and he smiles at her, hoping to coax her into a smile of her own. He hates her looking so bewildered when he’s used to seeing her in the shop, capable and curious. He knows Elle means well, insistently pushing her into the kitchen like this, but he knows it makes her uncomfortable, makes him want to chew out whoever convinced her she’d burn down the house trying to boil water.

“Did Elle have you practicing?” He asks, but the bewildered look doesn’t fade so he draws her over to the counter, standing behind her. He could show her once and leave her to it, but he knows that won’t do anything to boost her confidence.

He’s watched her sit for hours in the shop, tinkering with a bunch of spare parts, cursing quietly to herself as she figured out how everything worked, how it all went together, until she had the result she wanted, but he knew this wasn’t the same thing. He doubted she'd ever laid hands on a loaf of bread that hadn’t come in a bag until that first day she'd showed up to Elle’s for lunch, knew she'd never seen an unbaked loaf, let alone a starter sponge, before she'd shown up this morning. She had no frame of reference and she would be too embarrassed to ask Elle although he knew she might ask him.

“Elle did all the heavy mixing.” He upends a bowl onto the counter. “All we have to do is knead these and then throw them in the loaf pans.”

“OK.” Mac says quietly as he grabs the flour scoop, flouring the top of the loaf and dusting his hands.

“Your turn.” He dumps the flour onto her upturned palms then molds his hands to hers, curving his fingers around hers as she shakes the excess flour free.

“Push with the heel of your hand.” He tells her, “lean into it.”

He presses down to illustrate and she nods, mimicking his actions, folding the dough over, grabbing more flour when he prompts her. He keeps close, keeps his hands over hers so that he knows she’s paying attention, not worrying about what she’s doing.

“That looks good.” He slides his hand off hers to press the dough and immediately she moves her hands back, making a small irritated noise when he pulls them back. “Feel how the texture’s changed? It’s not sticky. It’s smooth and springy, there’s some resistance but it doesn’t feel like you’re mixing concrete either.”

“Yeah.” She agrees but he waits until she pokes at the dough herself to step to the side and pull a loaf pan over.

“That’s one done. Do you think we can manage the rest?”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t protest when he plunks another loaf onto the counter before her. 

“You start that one. I’ll work on another.” He prompts her. “I’ll take a look when you’re done. I’m not going to let you put a half kneaded ball of dough into the oven.”

*

Elle’s too busy chasing Cailee around the house trying to get her to put her shoes on to notice but he’s finding impossible not to watch the way Mac’s fidgeting.

“Have you decided what toppings you want?” He asks taking a seat on the corner of Elle’s bed as Mac fusses with her hair at the vanity.

“What?”

“At the social. On the ice cream.”

“Oh.” She frowns at herself in the mirror then bites her bottom lip considering. 

“Chocolate.” She turns toward him, frown deepening when she realizes she hasn’t answered his question. “I’m sorry.”

He stands and crosses the room to duck under the slope of the roof behind her. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You look like Elle the morning she turned fifteen and I took her to take her driver's test.”

Mac looks alarmed. “I’m not going to puke.”

“She told you about that, huh?” Will chuckles at the memory. “I meant you looked worried.”

“My hair.”

“Is fine.” He smooths his hand over her head in illustration and sees her reflection force a smile.

“I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Up, down, half up, am I missing any options?”

“I don’t have time to curl it. Maybe I should—”

“Let Will put it up.” Elle slips through the door and grabs her shawl off the bed. “He’ll be done in less than five minutes and I can sneak you in early so you can get the best bits. We always run out of praline and the gummies. Are you still ok with bringing Cailee? I can’t promise she won’t be running around half naked in five minutes.”

“Go.” Will prods, “Mac and I can hogtie her with her pretty green sash and throw her in the back of the truck if she’s too much trouble.”

“If I’ve heard that once I’ve heard it a thousand times.” Elle laughs, “just don’t go threatening our MacKenzie. She’s too pretty to be riding around in the back of a pickup.”

“Oh shut it.” Mac grumbles and Will forces down a smile as she frowns at him knowingly in the mirror.

“It’s a nice dress. I like the blue.” He relents and Elle groans audibly as she makes her way back out onto the landing. It was a nice blue, deep and rich, a perfect contrast to the large pink and burgundy watercolor roses splashed across the fabric.

“Are you really any good at this?” Elle plods down the stairs as Mac turns back to the mirror, skeptical. 

“I have two sisters.”

“I have three.”

“I do Cailee’s hair all the time.”

“Yeah,” Mac brushes a hand through her bangs. “All right.”

Mac’s hair is soft and fine, bleached golden in spots by the sun. He toys with it, letting it slip through his fingers, pretending to hem and haw, wishing Elle had been a little more generous with her time estimate. They don’t have a lot of time, but they had enough for this, but that was Elle, telling him to be nicer than stomping on his foot. Reluctantly, he slides two fingers back from Mac’s temples to her ears, drawing the section up. “We’ll pin it up in the front. You won’t have to worry about ice cream hair.”

“How much ice cream are you expecting me to eat?” She asks, eyebrows raised and he grins a bit cheekily.

“It’s ice cream Mac and it’s all you can eat.”

*

It turns out Cailee is happy enough to cooperate, tearing through the house and down the driveway as Mac chases her roaring, heels held in one hand, feet shoved in Elle’s old barn boots. He follows along more sedately, grabbing coats and sweaters, locking up.

They both pile into the back seat, Mac squirming as he pulls out of the driveway trying to get her heels on.

“You can wait till we park.” He offers but by the time they’ve made it to the fire station she’s smoothed out her dress and her hair, and is leaning forward to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

“You look pretty.” Cailee assures her and he beams at his niece who immediately takes this as a sign she’s allowed to go and starts trying to climb over the passenger seat into the front until Mac grabs her around the waist pulling her back onto her lap.

“Wait till Will gets the door open then you can run off. Watch for the cars.” She finishes yelling a moment later as Cailee takes off for the open front doors of the station.

“The boys at school are having a competition to see who can eat the most. Cailee’s convinced she’s going to beat them all.”

Will laughs reaching to set a hand on her head as she climbs cautiously from the back. “Remind me to send her home with Elle. I don’t want to be detailing my truck tomorrow.”

*

 

He hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t noticed that she kept circling back to where he was sitting, studiously avoiding the dance floor.

She’d talked to several of the women from church, a couple she knew from the shop, but once the music had started he’d practically had to shove her out of her chair to get her to go say hello to Chad Wilson, who he figured wouldn’t dare to say more than hello, let alone ask her to dance, not with the way she’s been sticking so close to him all night.

“Chad says hello.” She reports, retaking the seat next to him, still clinging to the bowl of melted ice cream she’s been carrying around for the last twenty minutes.

“I doubt that very much.” He says sincerely and she frowns at him.

“There are people who like you. You do know that.”

“Chad doesn’t dislike me,” he can’t help but grin at her. “He’s scared I’m going to sock him in the jaw if he doesn’t watch himself.”

“Will.” She admonishes sharply, his grin only growing. “Would you be serious.”

“I am.” He leans over, knocking against her shoulder and she relents a little with a small smile.

“Will’s an overprotective baboon.” Elle announces from behind them. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Mac’s keeping me company.” It’s an easy fib, despite the fact he knows Elle won’t buy it for a second. He’s always preferred playing music to dancing to it, but he’s always danced a bit, mostly with her, but with a few of the older ladies as well.

“You got all cleaned up to sit there?” She’s incredulous, but she’s not arguing and he figures that’s good enough.

“I got cleaned up to come smear myself with ice cream and chocolate sprinkles.”

“Baboon.”

“If you keep saying that I’m going to start making monkey noises.” He offers flatly and she rolls her eyes exasperated.

“You can.” Mac offers with a nod toward the rest of the room as Elle disappears. 

“I’d really rather not.” He leans back in his chair and winks at her, waiting until she smiles at his display of bravado to continue. “Elle’s testy she has to ward off all the men by herself. The whole two of them who haven’t been around long enough to know she’ll break their fingers if they try and touch her.”

“You—”

“She’s fine.” It’ll give her something to complain about tomorrow. It’s the perfect segue into rattling off a list of all the single women I wasn’t chatting up.”

“I don’t think—” Mac starts before trailing off.

“Maybe not.” He smiles at her again, before pointing across the room. “Look quick, by the door. Nelson will deny it till the ends of the earth but he cleans up well.”

*

When he walks through the door, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so relieved.

“What does Elle?” He starts to ask and she points at the counter, at the rows of upturned jars and glances at the stove, at the large pot billowing steam.

“Sterilizing jars?”

“I don’t want to kill anyone.” She tells him firmly by way of confirmation and he has to stop himself from smiling. Six weeks ago Mac hadn’t realized you could can things by hand, now she knew enough to know to be careful. “I know how to, after, but—”

“She didn’t give you instructions.” It isn’t a question. He knows Elle wouldn’t have bothered if she’d heard him pulling up the driveway. She’d had no way of knowing he would spend five minutes kicking at the rotting posts of the back porch, trying to decide what he planned on doing about it, if it was worth bothering with before the worst of the cold weather set in.

“Pull the rack out of the pot. Carefully.” He tells her, outlining each step as she completes the last. “Put the cans in with the open end up. Put the rack back in the pot. Let them sit for ten minutes. You want them hot, but you don’t want them boiling. You don’t want to accidentally crack one.”

She sets the lid back on the pot and sets the timer, grinning at him shyly. “Elle made it sound like rocket science.”

“Did you tell her she’s supposed to be sticking to small engine repair?” He asks as she steps over to stand beside him as he leans back against the counter. “How are the lessons going?”

“Fine.” She doesn’t elaborate, glancing toward the cellar stairs when she hears Elle start her ascent, feet heavy on the steps.

“Took you long enough, you oaf.” Elle appears with her arms wrapped around a bushel basket of apples.

“I wasn’t aware I was working on a deadline.” He grumbles at her and he sees Mac wipe a hand across her face, hiding a smile.

“You said ten. It’s ten twenty,” she pauses to glance at the clock across from the stove, “six. That’s late by anyone’s standards.”

*

The weeks before Halloween slip by with their usual ease until he walks into the shop one morning to find Elle dressed in a yellow abomination.

“I don’t even want to know.” He sighs as she comes out from behind the counter to shimmy her apron. “You’re a school bus?”

“The Magic School Bus.” Elle corrects with a frown.

“Where’s your Mrs. Flips.”

“Fitz.” Elle rolls her eyes. “Go say good morning and don’t let Cailee see you without a costume.”

Mac, as he'd expected, is dressed to match Elle, her blue jumpsuit covered in applique stars, Saturn tucked along the slope of her shoulder, Mars spread across her ribs.

“Nice hair.” He teases and she shoots a look toward the sink, the sliver of mirror that had managed to stay stuck to the wall all these years despite his dad’s best efforts.

“It’s not—” she says and then she laughs. “It’s supposed to be a mess and it’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac's dress was inspired by [this dress](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a6/a1/95/a6a1957d26bd62f2a7a7c60a09341d18.jpg) from The Reformation.


	3. Chapter 3

“Everything ok?” He asks her gently, watching her turn from the TV to look at him.

“Yeah.”

“It’s fine?” He suggests and she nods, tries to smile, but she seems to know it doesn’t quite reach her eyes because she looks away, back toward the TV.

“Mac.”

“Don’t Will.” There’s a strong caution there, a warning, but he ignores it because he can’t stand the way she’s sitting there, shoulders pulled forward, stubbornly staring at an infomercial, an artifact of whatever his sister had been watching the night before.

“What did Elle say?”

“Don’t.” She insists but she turns toward him temporarily panicked when she hears him take a step back toward the kitchen. “She was trying to help. Don’t you dare pick a fight.”

She winces at her choice of words, the harshness of them, but she doesn’t take them back, doesn’t try to hide the look of guilt that flickers across her face, although she isn’t looking at him anymore, but at the floor by his feet, the old beige carpeting he keeps meaning to rip up.

“It’s not her fault. Don’t—”

“I won’t.” He promises. He won’t pick a fight, but she’ll be hard pressed if she thinks he isn’t going to say something because she looks miserable, like a scolded child banishing herself to the corner.

“I don’t want you to fight over me.” She says it quietly to the woman in the new dress on the TV.

We won’t he wants to say, but there have been a few squabbles lately, disagreements that sounded a lot like the ones they’d had back in the spring: you’re being an ass, cut her some slack, would you just talk to her. Except now it was his fumbling, his trying that seemed to get him in trouble more than anything else.

“No yelling.” He offers instead and she glances over at him unconvinced, resigned as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

“Please tell me she isn’t crying.” Elle insists as soon as he’s pulled the door closed behind himself. “I can’t stand the thought of it.”

“You could go talk to her.”

“I was trying.” Elle frowns at him displeased he’s not trying to placate her. “But she went and sat out there and it’s pretty clear she wants to be left alone.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He couldn’t disagree with that, as upset as she seemed to be there had been a distinctive defensive shift in her posture when she'd heard him come stomping in from the front porch. “What happened?”

“This.” Elle grabs his arm and drags him into the mudroom and points at the wall of coat hooks before glaring at him. “It’s ten degrees outside and she’s wearing that.”

That was the same leather jacket she'd been wearing since the weather had first turned cold, a khaki knit hat folded around the top of the peg.

“She’s wearing a sweater.” He offers carefully and Elle rolls her eyes.

“I asked her where her coat was and she did that thing, got that look that means she’s hoping you won’t notice she’s stalling because she looks so sweet and innocent. I told her you had an extra jacket in the truck and she said she didn’t need it which— how the hell did she not freeze to death last winter?”

“I don’t know, Elle.” He exhales slowly and reaches to straighten Mac’s hat as she continues.

“I told her I could take her by the thrift store Friday when they’re open late and the end of her nose went all pink and she said thank you and left, no argument, no nothing. I went and poked my head into the living room when I finally got the casserole in the oven and,” she shrugs helplessly. “I wasn’t even mad. I thought maybe she hadn’t realized how cold it was and she didn’t want to make Jim wait, but he would’ve made her go back inside before he let her in the car.”

He can tell she’s frustrated with Mac, but more than that she’s irritated with herself. “I’ll go and get,” he starts but Elle isn’t finished.

“She asked me if I had an old pair of your boots Jim could have, why didn’t she—?” Elle groans as he shakes his head.

*

He goes out to his truck to get the coat, and then stands in the doorway to the living room for a second before crossing the room to lay it on the couch beside Mac. 

“All right?” He asks when she looks up and she sighs and shrugs reluctantly.

He doesn’t say anything then. He goes up to Cailee’s room and dresses barbies in power suits before lunch. He lets the afternoon unfold. He waits until Monday to offer, waits until she’s grease-stained and smiling to broach the subject.

“I was planning on heading to North Platte on Saturday to pick up a couple of spare parts. You’re welcome to come along if you want a lift.”

“I don’t think,” she stops and then starts to reconsider. “Won’t you get bored?”

“I can bring a magazine,” he grins, knowing she would otherwise scoff at the frivolity, “do some shopping of my own. It’s not too long a drive but I’d like the company.”

Her agreement is tentative, lukewarm, but he can tell she’s thinking about it and that’s all that he’s hoping for. He knows Elle’s more worried than he is, Mac’s smart enough to know when it’s dangerously cold; he’s more worried about the strain it’s putting on the two of them, but even so he can wait, he can wait until she makes up her mind.

“I know you said Saturday.” She slots a wrench back into place in her toolbox as he glances over. “Could we maybe, tomorrow? I can come in on Saturday and catch up. I don’t mind and you could pick the parts up a couple of days early.”

“Yeah.” He tries not to sound too pleased. “That would buy me a little time.”

He’s not going to argue with her about coming in on Saturday. He knows she needs the hours and offering her paid vacation would likely end with him getting beamed over the head. He hasn’t seen her mad, not really, but he knows she has a temper, he'd seen a glimmer of it that afternoon he’d fixed Elle’s roof. “I’ll pick you up at your place?”

*

She doesn’t have any luck in the thrift stores they sift through. He hadn’t expected her to find anything, but he'd wanted to let her try, even if most of the better winter stuff would’ve been well picked over by the time school had started.

She finds a promising prospect in the last store, but the sleeves are a inch and a half too short, and they leave, Mac shrugging his old jacket on with a reluctant huff.

“Can I buy you lunch?” He asks as they make their way through the parking lot toward the truck. The offer is a gamble given her current mood, but he knows she’s cash strapped and he’s not cruel enough to scarf down an entire meal while she picked at whatever happened to be cheapest on the menu. “I was going to grab a sandwich at Runza.”

“Yeah.” She glances over at him with a faint, if genuine, smile. “That would be nice.”

*

“We’re going to have to try a couple of department stores.” He says cautiously after they’ve eaten, while she’s toying with the edge of her sandwich wrapper.

“We,” she sighs, but he cuts in before she finds the words to tell him they should head home.

“And I was thinking, I know it’s a little early and I know you’re going to tell me not to bother but Elle and I have this thing, a tradition, and I know you wouldn’t dare mess that up, so you’re just going to have to accept the fact that you’re getting gifts from both of us and we’re not accepting anything in return.”

“You can’t.” It’s more pained than panicked, but he'd expected that. He hadn’t expected it to be so hard to watch her trying not to look at him.

“We’ll go halfsies. I’ll take the right sleeve you can—”

“I only have forty bucks.” She’s embarrassed, struggling and he sees now why Elle had been so upset.

“Sixty forty. I get the whole hood and if it comes with—”

“I can pay you—”

“No.” He’s firm but exceedingly gentle, not cautious, he doesn’t want her thinking that he’s hesitating, that she can win this one through sheer stubbornness. He’d all but known it would come down to this. He’d buy the whole damn coat for her if he thought she would let him. The shop was doing well enough now; he’d need to offer her a raise in the spring, a sizable one given all the work she insisted on putting in, but for now they would both have to settle for this, as stubborn as they were. “Give me the forty bucks and I’ll pay for the rest. That’s the whole of it. Full stop.”

“I’m serious.” She cuts him off bottom lip held between her teeth and he nods.

“So am I.”

*

She hadn’t wanted to go into Penney’s but when he’d told her he’d go in and pick something out without her she’d slammed the truck door and trudged through the parking lot behind him with a determined frown.

The frown hadn’t lasted long once he’d insisted they stop in the children’s department to look at a couple of things for Cailee, so he’s tentatively hopeful despite the fact that this is their last option in town. 

“If you keep looking at the tags I’m going to start ripping them off.” He warns and she drops the sleeve she’s holding like it’s suddenly grown too hot. “Try a bunch of things on and see what you like.”

He knows she’s still peeking at sale signs so he wanders away picking out coats from different racks to thrust at her. He knows it’s a bit overwhelming sorting through that many options, but it works to distract her as they narrow down the pile, pulling out the jackets with sleeves that are too short, coats that sit too high on her hips, one particularly hideous option with a fur trimmed hood that swamps her head.

They narrow it down to a couple of choices, a couple of options because they both know the coat she prefers is more expensive than their allotment, even on sale, and she’s hesitating.

“Maybe.” She says reaching for the other coat, but he doesn’t relinquish either.

“Let’s get the nice one. There’s no point in buying a piece of shit.” It’s blunt. There’s a mother who reaches to cover her child’s ears with a glare in his direction but Mac doesn’t seem to notice.

“I,” she worries her bottom lip, glancing at him.

“I want to buy it for you.” He reiterates again and he sees some of the hesitance go. “I can’t have my best employee ending up with frostbitten fingers.”

“They’re not gloves.” She’s not trying to be funny, she’s only hoping for a bit of levity, but she manages to surprise him enough that he chuckles and offers her a smile.

“First thing’s first, let’s get you a coat.”

*

He’d thought he’d dropped Cailee off downstairs to play with Ashley, but she’d followed him up to Mac’s, disappearing into the apartment as Mac appears, toothbrush in her mouth, to wave at him.

“Early,” she draws her eyebrows together questioningly and he shrugs as she steps over to spit in the kitchen sink.

“Cailee’s not always punctual.”

Mac smiles at the understatement and wipes a hand across her mouth. “There’s a couple of things.” She tips her head toward the back of the apartment. “I’ll only be— Cailee.” There’s a warning note there he hasn’t heard from her before. “What did I tell you about touching other people’s things?”

He looks up, surprised by her tone, to find Cailee carefully holding a guitar in the air, arms stretched over her head to avoid both the floor and the tops of her damp shoes.

“It’s for Uncle Will.” Cailee insists, not at all cowed by Mac’s admonishment.

“It doesn’t belong to you.” Mac’s equally insistent and Cailee looks to him for backup, the corners of her mouth dropping, her eyes uncertain.

“It’s nice to ask.”

“But Jim said it’s ok if I touch his things.”

He nods, stepping up beside her to take the guitar and gently lay a hand on her shoulder. “Some things like guitars are special or expensive.”

“But it’s for you,” Cailee says softly her bottom lip beginning to tremble, “so you can play again.”

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, too surprised by her assertion. She couldn’t possibly remember, he'd played in the months after her birth, desperate to calm mother and child during the long winter nights, but he'd given it up after that. He still had his guitar. He couldn’t part with it, his mother had worked too long and too hard to help him buy it, but he hadn’t touched it in years.

“Later, all right?” He asks, trying not to make it sound like too much of a promise. “You’re not in trouble. It’s just that Mac and I have to get to work. There are lots of snow blowers to fix before we’re buried in ten feet of snow.”

Cailee doesn’t look at all convinced by his assertion but with a a bit more coaxing he’s able to get her back downstairs before Mac’s waiting by the door of the building fiddling with her keys.

*

He’s not entirely sure why he’d shown up. Mac, not Elle, had asked and he figures that has something to do with it but it’s not as if he hasn’t passed up these impromptu gatherings in the past. He’s glad he’s come though watching Cailee zipping around the living room. She’ll be back in a minute, crawling up onto the couch beside him to nuzzle her way under his arm to tell him some story from school that day, something someone had done or a comment her teacher had made. He can hear Elle laughing and Mac’s exasperated complaints over the crackling of her old radio as they shuffle across the room toward him. Jim was the one in charge tonight, but Elle couldn’t help but throw in a comment or two even as they slip from the kitchen into the living room.

“Billy, Elle said you might not want jalapenos.”

The nickname slips off her tongue without thought. He can tell because she doesn’t start the way Elle does at the sound of it and he wonders how often she'd muttered it to herself, trying it out, letting it roll off her tongue. He wonders if she’s said it before, whispered it, murmured it and the sound had been lost in the noise of an engine turning over, the constant chatter from the radio.

No one’s called him Billy since his mother had died. He’d forgotten the feeling it brought, the word warmed with a secret kindness, but he remembers the way it had sounded. Elle would remember that too, as young as she'd been, but not the way that he did, the soft perfection of the name, the fondness it imbued. 

It feels like his chest has caved in or his lungs have burst, but she’s looking at him so innocently, so oblivious to the shock she’d caused that he can’t bring himself to say anything, and so instead he lifts his hand to the side of her face, cupping her jaw with a tender, fleeting touch.  
“What did you need Mac?”

“Jalapenos.” She repeats with a soft pleased smile. “Did you want any?”

He considers for a moment, wanting to hold them suspended in the feeling that’s settled over them, then shakes his head. “No, not tonight.”

*

They’ve eaten and Cailee’s wiggled her way off the couch, Mac slowly slipping into the space she’d vacated until she’s close enough that he can feel her vibrating with suppressed laughter at the story Jim is spinning.

“That’s not what happened.” She insists but Jim ignores her, grin growing, Mac’s silent laughter continuing until Will’s smiling too.

He leaves them eventually, reluctantly, figuring he should get a start on the dishes so Jim isn’t left with them after he and Elle leave.

“You don’t have to.” Mac is there at his elbow, smiling at him, eyes still sparkling with laughter. “I usually. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t mind.” He flashes her a grin as she leans past him to knock the faucet out of his way. “At least let me help.”

“No.” She shakes her head and pretends to consider him. “You’re a guest and last time I checked the rule is—”

“There are rules now?” He laughs, watching the way she’s trying to pout through her smile.

“Every place has rules. Nebraska definitely has rules about—”

“Uncle Will?” Cailee appears at Mac’s elbow staring up at him as Mac peters off with a look that says she’s not done maligning his home state. “Can you play me a song? Jim says it’s OK. I asked special for you.”

“You did, did you?” He asks wondering how that had escaped his notice, escaped Mac’s, because she clearly doesn’t look happy. She looks worried, concerned in a way that instinctively makes him irritated on her behalf.

“Cailee, right now isn’t—” He can see she’s trying to be gentle but Cailee has that stubborn look, the one that says she’s not listening to a thing anyone’s saying until he answers her because she’d asked him and not anyone else.

“Jim and I can play you a song.” He agrees knowing there’s no way he’s getting out of this any other way, not without upsetting Cailee or make Mac furious. He had promised, and it wasn’t as if he’d sworn off music all together.

“Elle said—” Mac starts but he shakes his head, a quick jerk of his chin and she stops with a sigh.

“I’m sure we can find something for me to bang on for the duration of this sing along.”

“Really?” Cailee’s face lights up and he shrugs.

“Give Mac and I a couple of minutes to get things sorted out then we can start pestering Jim about his taste in music.”

“All right?” He turns back toward Mac but she doesn’t say anything, tugging on his sleeve in lieu of asking him to follow her because that’s clearly what she wants.

Fingers nestled in the fabric above his wrist, she drags him down the hall into her room and yanks open the drawer of the small bedside table, rummaging around as he waits quietly. He watches her toss a bible onto the bed, a rosary, a tiny tube of hand cream, a flashlight and then she stops.

“You know how she is.” She says softly, so quietly at first that he leans toward her a bit so he doesn’t have to ask her to repeat herself. “She gets into everything. I should’ve thought about that but I didn’t think— You don’t throw expensive things, you don’t throw—”

She turns around and holds the slender box out to him, lets him take it from her carefully, the green velvet worn with use along one side.

“They were my grandmother’s.” There’s a glimmer of a smile in the words as he nods before carefully pressing the lid open.

It’s a pair of gold earrings, small gold hoops nestled in the box’s pale satin lining.

“She was playing with them like— You don’t have to. She’s not upset with you. Will—”

“I’ve never seen you wear these.” It’s an idle observation half mumbled, meant only for himself, but it’s enough to quiet her, tip her chin down so she’s watching the way his fingers brush the carefully polished metal.

“I’ve never, I didn’t want to ruin them at the shop. I didn’t want—” She bites her lip, considering and he offers her a small smile.

“We’re not at the shop.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“Shh,” he shakes his head. “I think you should put these on and we should go have some fun before your neighbors start showing up demanding chili or showtunes.”

The corners of her lips turn down in a not quite dismissive pout but she steps closer as he sets the box on the end of the bed and beckons her closer, waiting until she’s stopped in front of him to reach and brush her hair behind her ears. Elle had never minded, but he remembers how tender Kat’s ears had always been and so he’s careful, gentle as he pulls the backs off the studs she’s wearing before reaching for the gold hoops and carefully sliding them into place.

“They suit you.” He tells her as he flicks her hair back out from behind her ears and her brow furrows for a second before she offers him a tentative smile reaching up to tug at the hoops.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” He nods and her smile widens.

“Is it really ok, the music?”

“It’s fine.” He promises. “If we can’t find me something to bang on I’ll use my head.”

“Will.”

“Elle’s always telling me it must be half hollow.”

“It is not.” She’s still protesting but she laughs softly as she teases him. “You’re too stubborn that. You’re head’s as dense as a brick.”

*

She’s developing a habit of stealing his breath, arresting his heart and while he thinks she hasn’t noticed, he knows Elle has, although she’s been wise enough not to say anything as her eyebrows climb higher on her forehead.

He’s staring at Mac. There’s no other way to describe the way he can’t take his eyes off her. He’s always found her beautiful, he won’t deny that, but tonight she’s something else altogether, ethereal. He’s seen this dress before, seen her in this dress before, but with her hair done up, with the pearls he’d asked Elle to give her, he thinks he may expire if he doesn’t find a way to force air into his lungs.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathes out on the last of an exhale and she smiles, a tiny almost embarrassed smile as she turns toward him.

“It’s too much.” She insists and he shakes his head reaching toward her to run his finger over the line of pearls at her throat.

“Elle gave them to me.” She tugs at one of the matching earrings as he smiles, it’s a soft smile, one that’s tinged with sadness around the edges. He doesn’t mean for it to be, but that smile of hers, warm and bright, has no corresponding radiance in his memory. His mother had worn the pearls to church every Sunday, to birthday parties and anniversary celebrations. She’d been proud of them. They’d been his mother’s and then they’d been Elle’s. Elle had never worn them, hadn’t hesitated when he’d suggested passing them on to Mac. 

Mac clearly didn’t know, although he wonders if she suspects when her smile flickers for a moment before she reaches to poke him in the shoulder playfully.

“You’re always so pouty when Elle makes you dress up.”

“It’s not so much the clothes,” he returns her mock frown with one of his own, yanking at the cuff of his sports jacket. “It’s the fancy manners I have to put on too.”

She laughs at that, delighted, he assumes, with her disagreement on the subject. He made a point of being polite, but he had no patience for the niceties of social conversation. He’d rather eat his own shoes than make small talk for hours and he knew she knew that.

“Keep me company.” She offers, stepping closer, voice dropping conspiratorial. “I’m wearing extra pointy shoes. I’ll stomp on your foot every time you’re tempted to say something.”

“Charming.” He shakes his head and she grins.

*

She sticks close to him for most of the evening, winding her way through the silent auction tables with her lips pressed tightly together, trying not to laugh at the commentary he’s offering under his breath. None of it’s particularly charitable, which seems a bit sacreligious given they’re at a charity event but he‘s a little bored and more than content with making her giggle, hand pressed over her mouth as she swats at him, hissing under her breath to tell him to behave.

Occasionally she wanders off to find Jim, checking in despite the fact they all know Jim’s enjoying himself, tucked away in a corner with a couple of guys, trading jokes about whatever had been in that morning’s paper.

Elle’s more nebulous, harder to find. but he knows Mac’s run into her a couple of times, knows Elle’s been nagging again. He doesn’t need to ask to be sure. It’s a matching pair of looks he’d be able to recognize from halfway across the state: Elle stubborn and slightly confused, Mac worried and just as stubborn.

“What’s she trying to talk you into?” He leans over the table between then and Mac whorls around, wide-eyed.

“You shouldn’t be back there.” She frowns at him, tugging at his sleeve until he rounds the corner of the table, clearing a path for the caterers he figures although, too startled by his sudden appearance, she doesn’t bother to remind him of that. “You need to make more noise when you walk.”

“That’s what happens when you make me take off my boots.” He flashes her a grin. “What bug crawled up Elle’s—”

“She thinks I’m lying about not dancing.” Mac cuts him off with another stern look, but even still he almost smiles at the ingenuity of the statement. Anyone who knew her knew better than to follow up with ‘you don’t?’

“Did you try telling her your dance partner disappeared to flush his cufflinks down the toilet?”

“You didn’t. Will. Tell me you didn’t.” She’s earnest now, if a little exasperated at how hopeless he could be. “Will.”

“They’re right—” He fishes the silver studs out of his pocket and dumps them into her waiting palm. “I’m teasing. I got bored and started an arm wrestling competition. I let Nelson beat me.”

She squints at him, not entirely sure he’s being serious, although he was, mostly. He had gotten bored without her and there had been arm wrestling, but it’d been between a couple of bored teenagers. He’d taken the cuff links off because he hadn’t been able to stop fiddling with them.

“You’re horrible.” She decides and he flashes her a grin.

“I could go dunk you in a toilet. It’d get you out of dancing.”

“I’m not—” She frowns at him entirely unimpressed. “You could tell her we danced.”

“Lie?” He gasps and she can’t help but smile.

“A little one.”

“Or we could stand in the corner.” He offers with a shrug, surveying the crowd. “You’d have to put your arms around my neck, but we could stand there. No one’s going to notice we’re not moving. No one’s feet will get trampled. Win win.”

She glances at him, squinting a bit and then laughs with a shake of her head. “Are you asking me to dance?”

“I won’t dare.” He tells her seriously and for a moment it looks like she’s going to agree.

“That’s an awfully long—”

“Three minutes, four tops. We were worse shape the other day.”

“I thought you were going to get stuck.” She presses a hand to her mouth to stop a giggle as he carefully breathes out to avoid laughing at the memory of the mess they’d gotten themselves into, pressed up side by side next to a pair of ATVs.

“This can’t be worse than that.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No, but we’d have another great story to tell.”

“That’s not a story we’re telling. Ever.”

“OK, all right no telling, but now you have to fake dance with me. I need something I can blackmail you with later.”

“That,” she starts to exclaim before she can’t help but laugh. 

“Four minutes.”

“Three.”

“All right, three.”

 

*

It might be the Friday before Christmas but if she thinks he’s not going to notice that she’s upset when she slides farther under the car she’s working on, the car he'd finished up the night before, she’s mistaken, but the obvious delaying tactic and her silent reply to his greeting is enough to send him circling back to where Elle’s sitting at the counter.

“What happened?”

“She doesn’t want to talk about it?” Elle looks up briefly from the catalogue she’s combing through.

“She doesn’t want to talk.” He snags the stool Elle isn’t using and takes a seat. “What happened?”

“She’s going back to New York for Christmas.”

“She’s,” he scrubs a hand over his face understanding why Elle has barely looked at him. “Well, shit.”

“I told her you’d advance her the money to cover—”

“I’ll give her—”

“Will—”

“I know,” he groans as she finally looks at him, carefully studying his reaction.

“She’ll have to come back.”

“I know that.” He says a little tersely and Elle frowns at him. “I’m not worried about— What?”

“It would help if you stopped looking like you want to punch something.” Elle informs him placidly. 

“I’m not going to— It’s not her fault.”

“Do you think she knows that?”

He groans. “This is—” 

“Shit.” Elle suggests for him. “Yeah it is. The only way this could suck more is if you make her cry so don’t you dare.”

“What kind of—” He frowns at her. “I’ll go talk to her. Is there something specific you’d like me to say because heaven forbid I say something nice in the process.”

*

“You don’t have to.” She insists as she struggles to pull her suitcase from the back of the cab while he makes his way around the truck.

“I’ll be parked right here waiting.” He repeats and she heaves a sigh, yanking on the handle as he reaches around her to lift the suitcase over the reclined seat.

“If my flight— if the weather.”

“I’ll call the airport before I make the drive.” He promises, “but I’ll be right here.”

“The weather.” She’s still trying to argue with him even as he holds up a hand before pulling open the glove compartment.

“Speaking of the weather” He fibs lightly, “I almost forgot.”

He hands her the package he had stashed there the day before, wrapped in old newspaper, not wanting her to reject him outright if it looked like he'd put any thought or effort into this. “I thought you could use them for your trip.”

“Will.” Her protest isn’t as sharp as he'd expected, but she’s staring at the gift and not at him.

“I know you said not to. Consider it part two. They were on clearance.” He offers in case that might help. “You don’t have to open it now.”

“Will,” she sighs this time and he reaches to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly as she hesitates. “I should be— I need to,” she turns toward the door, the sign above it labeled departures in careful boldface letters.

“Call me when you land.”

“Yeah.” She nods, turning back toward him suddenly to grab the package and wrap her arms unceremoniously around his neck. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out in a rush, too surprised to manage anything else as she tugs her suitcase from his grasp and walks away, head held high.

*

He isn’t surprised when Jim’s the one who calls him to let him know Mac had made it safely to her brother’s. He’s apologetic in tone only, but Will knows he must sound a little disappointed, a little gruff, despite his best efforts.

She’d been quiet for most of the drive to Lincoln that afternoon, not sullenly so, but enough that he’d known she was upset. She’d been too preoccupied at the airport to seem anything but nervous about the impending flight, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Jim was calling because Mac couldn’t, because despite her best efforts he knew she must have made a detour to the nearest restroom to collect herself after he’d dropped her off.

She'd agreed to return to New York for the holidays, but he'd caught her several times looking like she'd regretted giving in. She hadn’t wanted to exchange gifts, had squabbled with Elle even as she'd shoved a box of neatly wrapped presents at him. She'd disappeared halfway through the Christmas pageant at church that weekend only to reappear red-eyed after a very pregnant Kristen Johnson had made a similar trek to the back of the church.

When she lands, he’s waiting at the curb as promised, heater cranked up, radio turned down low.

She stops inside the double doors, not knowing that he’s spotted her and fiddles with the strap of the new bag she’s carrying. She seems to have misplaced or packed her boots, because she’s wearing heels, but at least she has her coat on, the gloves he'd bought her yanked hastily onto her hands before she pushes the door open and glances around like she hasn’t already spotted him.

He hops out of the truck and takes her elbow, ignoring the note of protest that growls in the back of her throat. The sidewalks are cleared of the snow they’d gotten the night before, but the pavement’s still slippery particularly in such impractical shoes.

“Was your flight ok?” He asks as she slides into the truck and she nods, smiles conversationally and he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, because she hasn’t noticed that she’s being polite.

He keeps quiet, pretending he needs to watch the road, but the roads here are clear as are the roads through the city, but he lets her settle, lets the air fill with the humming of her favorite radio station, the constant drone of the local NPR affiliate.

She starts fiddling with the radio dial as they reach the city proper, Will winding his way through familiar streets as she tries to pick out his usual station. They’re too far from home, although she doesn’t seem to realize that, and so he reaches over at a light and lays his hand on hers, tuning the radio to the closest station.

She’s back to fiddling though by the time he reaches the next light, obviously frustrated with her lack of progress.

“There’s a couple of cassettes in the glove compartment.” He can see her frowning at him out of the corner of his eye. “There aren’t any more surprise gifts in there. I promise.”

She keeps frowning at him so he leaves her be, letting her jab at the radio preset buttons until he pulls into a half deserted parking lot on the western side of the city.

“I need something to eat. I can leave the heater on if you want to hang out here.”

“I’ll come in.” She shuffles around as he turns off the truck.

*

She smiles when he shoves the chopsticks toward the other side of the table and picks up a fork.

“Those are actual utensils you know.”

“Too slow,” he shrugs not wanting to point out he’d always scoffed a bit sardonically at the thought of using chopsticks, too self-conscious of his rural upbringing, even after spending almost a decade in Lincoln proper, to try and sort out how to use them.

She makes a soft sound, one that means she finds her own tentative agreement amusing, and he offers her a smile before shovelling a forkful of rice into his mouth. He’d ordered more food than the two of them could eat, but she hadn’t looked particularly invested in the process and he knew if he ordered enough he could tempt her with something.

“There’s crunchy with a side of cabbage,” he points with his fork to an eggroll, and then to the ribs at her elbow, “and barbeque grilled delicious.”

“And you’re not going to stop until I eat something.” She infers as he takes another bite.

“This is way better than whatever midnight snack Elle’s cooked up.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s much better suited to the eat your heart out school of crisis management.”

“Who said—”

“You have something on your mind.” He tells her with a momentary seriousness. “I thought it might be better if I was the one doing the sharing though.”

“Yeah.” She frowns at him, over-exaggerated, almost teasing by the time he cracks a smile in response. “Is it really that good?”

*

It’s early but he knows he doesn’t have to tiptoe around worrying about waking anyone up. Elle hasn’t lost the habit of keeping the hinges well oiled and his feet remember every creaky board in the old house. He checks on Elle first, Cailee curled up beside her, a tiny lump burrowed under the quilt she’d pulled off her own bed, then slips back down the hall to toe open the door to the bedroom no one’s touched in almost a year.

He’s expecting to find Mac asleep under rumpled blankets, but the bed is empty, covers still pulled back, her sweater hanging on the post at the foot of the bed. She’d been here, and recently from the look of things, but he hadn’t heard her head downstairs, hadn’t heard the whisper of her feet against the floorboards as he’d laid in bed wondering what he intended to say when she finally told him what was on her mind, and he wonders when she’d learn to skip the second step from the bottom, it’s omnipresent squeak the boldest of announcements.

He skips the step himself despite knowing he won’t find her asleep on the couch. She won’t be out in his truck either with her feet up on the dash, the radio tuned to KLNE while she drinks in the warm sun they haven’t seen in weeks. She’d be somewhere close but not there, not the mudroom either, it’d be too cold even for him, even if she’d been wearing the sweater he held clutched in his hand as he poked his head into the pantry.

She’s turned away from him, head bowed, shoulders pressed forward, but she’s still, almost too still in a way that unsettles him despite the fact she isn’t crying.

“Mac,” he whispers low and soft and he sees her shift although she doesn’t quite turn. “I brought your sweater.”

He holds it out, taking a step toward her, stopping when she doesn’t move.

“I’ll leave it here.” He leans, reaching to set it on a stack of upturned apple crates beside her and then retreats, stepping backward toward the door, unwilling to turn away

“You can stay.” She offers in the same whisper he’s been using. “Will. Stay.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly and then a little louder, “OK.”

He stands, waits, wishing he had on jeans so he could shove his hands into his pockets instead of raking them through his hair the way he couldn’t seem to stop doing, the same way he couldn’t stop wanting to reach for her, hug her like he had the night before.

It had felt so perfect the way she fit against him, how warm she had been, the way her eyes had laughed when she’d frowned at him for the way he’d chuckled in her ear at Elle’s exasperation. Midnight and not a kiss in sight. Midnight and he’d left her alone, still too afraid of the ghosts of his parents to do more than skirt the outer edges of the space they’d shared.

“Why did you stay?”

He isn’t sure if it’s the question or the answer she’s expecting that she’s settled on, but she’s settled on something he can hear it in the way she asks. She isn’t curious but she wants to know.

“It was after midnight. I didn’t think—”

She turns toward him, her feet shuffling out of step with the rest of her. The corners of her mouth quirking up a bit as she clarifies. “Not last night.”

He’d known that but he wanted her to be specific, wanted to be sure of what she was asking.

“Elle could have managed. You had a mechanic. You could’ve hired another and gone back to Lincoln.”

“I did hire a mechanic. That’s the thing.” He drops his hands to his side and her smile grows a little, wobbling despite itself as she reaches up to smooth down the hair he’d left standing on end.

“I hired a mechanic, a brilliant mechanic. Spectacular, a little stubborn, the best mechanic Nebraska’s ever seen. Can fix anything, even if we’ve all given up and gone home, even if it’s a rusted pile of junk, even if it’s a,” he draws in a quick breath, “carmudgeony old heart.” 

“You hired me.” There’s a disconnect somewhere, a gap she’s trying to bridge; he can see her working through it. “Me. You stayed because of me.”

“I can’t tell if you’re confused.”

“You’re in love with me.”

“I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t, but you are.” Her smile’s still there, steady now so he smiles back, grins before he realizes what he’s doing.

“I—” he shrugs. “I hope you’re not expecting some— I’m not, no one’s ever accused me of being romantic.”

She laughs at that, her pleased little laugh that says he has no idea what he’s talking about and she doesn’t mind because it’s endearing and, more perplexingly, sweet. “You could make me pancakes.” 

“Pancakes are romantic?”

“Only in Nebraska.” She echoes his grin and he shakes his head, amused.

“Is that what you were doing in here, looking for pancake mix?”

“I was hoping.”

“In this house?”

“I know.” She groans a little and then shrugs. “I wanted to make you breakfast. I wanted to— Before you picked me up last night I called my brother. I told him— before I left— I told them all I wasn’t staying. That’s what they wanted, for me to stay, but I told them I—” 

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, watching him, suddenly intent. He isn’t going to say anything until she’s finished, she knows that, but he lets her take her time, doesn’t prod her along. “I told them I had a boyfriend and when I called he asked me again if I was joking and I told him they all needed to stop thinking like that because I wasn’t, I wasn’t fucking joking, but I thought I should talk to you and make sure I wasn’t lying.”

He wants to laugh, because that would be the thing with her, the lying, not the way she’d blown into town and pulled his life apart the way she was fond of doing: to him, to Jim, to everyone else. He wants to laugh but he smiles instead and shakes his head, holding out a hand so that she’ll step closer.

“You weren’t lying.” He tells her softly, watching the way her worried frown softens into a tentative smile. “Although maybe next time—”

He stops when she stretches up on to her toes, wraps her arms around his neck, and smiles at him, twists the corners of her mouth around until he’s shaking his head. “I have to kiss you now?”

“It’s New Years.”

“It was New Years last night.”

“We had an audience.”

“So maybe next time, wait until—” He rolls his eyes and starts again, stopping when her lips brush his, soft and warm, and he swallows, “or not,” and cups the back of her head. His fingers tangling in her hair he smiles, kisses her, draws them both back toward the crates stacked against the wall, turning, spinning, until she’s sitting and he’s the one left trying not to fall dizzy with it all.


End file.
